


Variably Vacationing

by sardonicsmiley



Series: High School Heroes [9]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Blood, Canonical Character Death, F/M, High School, M/M, Violence, powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-26
Updated: 2008-08-26
Packaged: 2021-01-05 02:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 75,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sardonicsmiley/pseuds/sardonicsmiley
Summary: Everyone made it through Junior year, and Kolya escaped to fight another day. Summer is about to kick into full swing, and there's a storm brewing on the horizon. Just another adventure for Our Intrepid Heroes.





	1. Standard Version - No Deleted Scenes

**Author's Note:**

> So, usually I like to only reveal as much information as the characters in the fic get. But, with this one, some extra was needed (for a reason that shall become pretty clear by the end of the story) so, you get this extra insight that The Team does not. Blame John. 
> 
> This is the version without missing scenes. For the missing scenes version, go to Chapter Two. For the DVD commentary version, go to Chapter Three.

##### Prologue

When he had first found her, she had been nothing. She'd been a terrified wisp of a girl with matted hair. The years she'd spent in the woods had left her more than half-feral, vicious and unwilling to trust another person, unable to interact on any normal level with others.

When he had first found her, she'd been living—if it could be called that—in a cave. It had been dark, wet, and cold. There had been piles of small bones everywhere, her mouth and fingers stained with the blood of the small animals she fed on. The forest around her had been rank, with her waste and with the rot of what her gift could do.

She'd been young when she manifested, a twelve year old thrown through changes she couldn't possibly comprehend. There had been no one to help her with the sudden, cruel, shift in her body. She had been cast out on her own, and had done as poorly as could be expected.

But he had found her. He had taken her out of the forest, out of the cave that reeked with death and rot. He'd given her a home, though she didn't know what to do with it, and tried to tame her down to something controllable, if not human.

In the end, he decided her mind was too far gone to salvage. But she was healthy, hale, and strong. She was still young, and while her mind was a lost cause, her body still functioned properly. And she was useful. So very useful, especially now that he'd lost so much.

She was, in fact, the answer to all of his problems. And all he had to do was keep her supplied with a warm, humid place, and plenty of raw meat. It was a small price to pay for what she had already given back to him, and what she had yet to give.

* * *

##### Part One

Rodney can't breathe.

The big man's hand around his throat is rough with calluses, fingers pressing against skin hard enough to bruise. Rodney can feel each wild pound of his heart, reverberating against the man's palm, just like he can feel his lungs burning with not being able to get air.

The ground is somewhere far below his feet, a distant hope that he is never going to be able to achieve again. Rodney yanks and pulls at the man's arm, but his captor's muscles are like corded steel, impossible to budge. And besides, Rodney's own fingers feel so clumsy he can barely make them work.

There's laughter, booming in his ears, loud and mocking. Voices he doesn't know speaking words he doesn't understand, that he can't care about. It's hard to care about anything, to make himself focus, to try to keep his eyes open.

The world has fractured into pieces, a mirror broken to a thousand shards, revealed every time he manages to force his eyes open. Rodney can't keep track, and he can't breathe, and all around the edges of his vision the world is going gray, storm clouds to echo the thunder of his captor's voice. Rodney prays for lightning, choking, kicking, clawing, held back and held down and somehow sucking in a desperate swallow of air.

Rodney coughs, disoriented, his heart pounding way too fast, blinking into the gray light and wondering where the shattered pieces of the world went. His chest is burning, he feels dizzy, covered in a cold sweat, still thrashing against the arms around his chest.

Rodney doesn't realize he's babbling, words tumbling over each other out of his tight throat, until John rubs a hand up and down his stomach, voice rough with sleep when he says, "Sh, hey, Rodney, it's okay, it's okay now, you're fine."

A dream, then. Another one. Rodney pulls at John's arms, twisting around on the bed until he can sit up, pulling his legs out from under the blankets because he feels too hot, like he's ran a marathon. John shifts up beside him, hard to see with only the dim light of the closet. Then it doesn't matter, because John is wrapping an arm around Rodney's shoulders and shushing him again.

They're quiet for a long time, thankfully John doesn't push for an explanation of the nightmare. He must be as used to them as Rodney is by now, and there's no reason to burden him with the fact that this one was new. John says, stroking Rodney's hair as he speaks, mouth pressed right above Rodney's ear, "You weren't breathing. Scared the hell out of me."

Rodney nods his head as well as he can, croaks out, "Sorry," and they both laugh, more than the situation probably calls for. One laugh hitches, and Rodney covers his mouth, breathing through it, and then flopping back onto the bed. A half second later, John is slouching down beside him, bracing himself on one elbow, his eyes dark and worried. Rodney flashes him a smile that is hopefully reassuring, raising a hand to rub at his throat absently.

After a moment John catches his wrist, and John has to be able to feel the way Rodney's pulse is still pounding a million miles an hour beneath his skin. John says, voice soft and hesitant, "He's gone, Rodney."

Rodney sighs, turning his head on the pillow and looking up at John. He wants to sound sharp, unconcerned, when he speaks, but just ends up sounding tired, "But he's not. You saw him. He was right there." John had waited until they got home from the service to tell Rodney that Kolya was still alive, still running around. Being right isn't as comforting as Rodney had hoped it would be.

John makes a face, sliding his grip up to Rodney's hand and squeezing, "I meant he's not—I meant he can't hurt you. He's all alone, what's he going to do?"

The G.E.N.I.I. hadn't lasted after the attack on the police station, not with the gifted children that they'd killed. They'd done what damage control they could, but it was hard to keep public support when you killed the people you'd been claiming to protect. They'd fallen apart almost silently over the last few weeks, like everyone was too embarrassed to admit they'd ever been a part of it to bother with apologizing.

Rodney says, "Right, yeah," and rolls onto his side, pulling John close until he can feel the other boy's breath on the back of his neck. Tired as he is, he doesn't know how to fall back to sleep.

* * *

School being out is frustrating, not least because it had been providing a wonderful source of distraction that Rodney wants back. Without it there, he has too much time to think. The nightmares start making attempts to creep into his waking hours, again. Really, they're enough trouble at night, and Rodney had thought that he'd finally managed to stop having them during the day.

He's wrong. Lately, it feels like he always is.

They hit him at unexpected times. One morning, a week after the attack, he's brushing his teeth, watching the water swirl down the sink, and the world just gets small. It's ridiculous, because the bathroom is nothing like the one under the mountain. The Sheppard's is small and warm and has golden towels, for God's sake.

Rodney doesn't know how John knows something is wrong, if he's made a sound, or if the noise of him dropping his toothbrush had alerted the other boy out in the hall. John is just there, gently coaxing Rodney into releasing his death grip on the sides of the sink, into rinsing his mouth, into sitting down on the tile floor and just breathing until the pressure goes away and his heart rate slows down.

John always has a way of being there, whether it's Rodney freezing up over something as stupid as the telephone ringing, or having an incident over the trays in the food court when Teyla drags them to the mall, insisting they get swim suits.

Of course, that trip is traumatic enough without needing any help from Rodney's ridiculous issues. Rodney's not even sure why they're being forced to tag along, because Elizabeth is more than willing to accompany Teyla. They've put in their time. It's cruel and unusual punishment to keep dragging them out to shop.

Teyla disagrees, and points out that they'd best be nice, since she's still the only one of them with both a license and a car, which Rodney can't argue with. Though, the Charger is so close to being drivable that he can feel it, the potential for speed and a hunger for the road that keeps him up at night sometimes, when he allows his gift to drift a little too much.

Teyla and Elizabeth try on a lot of bathing suits. After watching the way Elizabeth grins at Ronon every time she tries one on and the way the other boy just sort of stares as hard as he possibly can, Rodney has a pretty good idea why Teyla wanted him and John along. It still doesn't seem fair. Though it might be for the best, because she tries on some things that Rodney is sure weren't meant to be worn without other clothes on overtop.

They go through one-pieces. They go through bikinis. They go through something that mostly seems to be made of string and that shows far more of Teyla's breasts than Rodney thinks Carson has even seen. At least in good lighting.

In the second store, John reaches out to grab a beach towel from a display they pass, and Rodney grins at him, nodding. Oddly, Teyla does not take kindly to it when they attempt to wrap her up in it. She appears to be willfully ignoring the fact that boys are complete bastards who will be drooling all over her.

It takes them what feels like hours to finally get both the girls enough swimsuits to please them. Ronon is carrying Elizabeth's bags with an intent look on his face, walking hand in hand with her as she and Teyla discuss wraps and sandals.

Rodney is just poking John in the side, fairly certain that they can make a run to the electronics store while no one is paying attention, frowning at a slight itch of _something_ across his hindbrain, when Elizabeth decides that they need swimming trunks. Rodney's protests that he doesn't swim are ignored, and they find themselves threatened with being dragged back around to half the stores they already visited, Elizabeth refusing to just let them grab a pair and leave.

He's not sure exactly why he and John are forced to try theirs on at different times, but Teyla is looking stern and tapping a foot, so Rodney doesn't argue. And, okay, actually watching John try on the different trunks isn't so bad. Comparatively.

Rodney has seen John shirtless, changing clothes and a time or two in the bathroom when he hadn't really meant to look, it had just sort of happened, what with the door being open and everything. But he's never had the time, or the excuse, to look for more than a half-second at a glance.

John's taller than him, still. Rodney has a feeling that the other boy will probably always have an inch or two on him. But Rodney's pretty sure that where his body is already starting to broaden out a little bit across the shoulders, John's really isn't.

It makes him look lanky, even taller with his narrow hips and long limbs. And he's hairy. Rodney figures that might be courtesy of the year John has on him, but maybe not. Ronon is John's age, and isn't particularly hairy either, no matter how many times he shaves the light hairs on his upper lip.

In any case, Rodney finds he's actually a little disappointed when Elizabeth and Teyla decide that they have found the perfect pair for John. Rodney can't actually remember what color the trunks were. He has, however, come very close to memorizing the exact patterns of the hair down the middle of John's chest and stomach.

That's about when they shove a pile of clothes into Rodney's arms and push him into the dressing room. And staring at John had probably been a mistake. Luckily, between thinking about Ellis and Kolya, Rodney manages to will away the problem before Teyla starts threatening to get John to break down the door.

Swim trunks are not a clothes item that Rodney has a lot of experience with. Neither are they complicated. He grabs a pair and steps into them, and opens the door without looking in the mirror, because he doesn't particularly care what they look like.

Teyla frowns at him, and then Elizabeth rolls her eyes and says, "Come on, shirts off," like he's committed some severe breach of etiquette.

Rodney crosses his arms, scowling at her when he replies, "Why? I'm going to wear it to the lake." And at their combined incredulous looks, "What? Have you seen me? I'm probably burning right now, just thinking about the sun." Now that he thinks about it, Elizabeth will probably burn as well. She's every bit as fair skinned as he is.

Teyla exchanges a look with Elizabeth, complete with raised eyebrows and amused smiles. Then Elizabeth waves a hand, grinning when she says, "That's what sunscreen is for." Rodney opens his mouth to protest and she raises a hand, expression going solemn and serious, "Don't worry. I'm sure that John will be a good friend and help you put it on your back."

Rodney tries to object again, but this time John interrupts, "Yes. I can do that. Whenever." Rodney looks at him, betrayed, but John just looks dazed and is blinking a lot. Rodney wonders if Teyla whammied him, and figures John can't really be blamed if she did.

Rodney singsongs, "Peer pressure," under his breath, but reluctantly takes the shirt off anyway, feeling skinny and pale and awkward. He crosses his arms again and glares at them, starting to actually worry about John, who has progressed to looking dazed with his mouth kind of hanging open.

Teyla claps, startling Rodney, and sounds overly gleeful when she declares, "They are perfect!" Rodney had thought they were just blue, but isn't about to argue the point.

The good part is that Rodney manages to escape after trying on only one thing. The bad part is, when they go to buy lunch, he ends up nearly hyperventilating, staring at the trays and smelling the burnt ozone flare of the stun weapons they'd used under the mountain, and that same itch of familiarity he can't quite place, right in the back of his skull.

John carries him outside. Ronon, ostensibly to be helpful, brings out their swim trunks.

* * *

Rodney throws most of his free time into working on the Charger. It gives him something useful to do with his hands, and keeps his mind busy. John helps, finally getting comfortable enough with what they're doing to take on little jobs of his own. Rodney misses having all his tools handed to him, sometimes.

Mostly though, he just enjoys himself. John's mom drags an old stereo out into the garage, and sometimes he catches John bobbing his head along with the beat, humming soft and out of tune. Between that and the car, which feels more and more like it should in his head everyday, the garage is quickly becoming Rodney's favorite place to be.

The familiar smell of oil and grease, the knowledge the John is right there, happy and healthy, the potential he can feel each time he touches the car, it all helps stabilize him. It's the one place he's never freaked out, and Rodney is aware he might be spending more time there than is strictly healthy.

John doesn't seem to mind, so Rodney doesn't think too much about it.

* * *

The first time they start the car up and it actually works, is right after they put the new tires on. John hadn't had any problem holding the car up as requested, but the tires are heavy and by the time Rodney is done wrestling them off and on, he's sweaty and tired.

And yet somehow, sitting on the bench seat, with a thick towel folded double to cushion the springs, listening to the engine rumble to life, is the best thing ever. It's loud in the contained space of the garage, a vibration that Rodney can feel in his bones, watching John stare at the steering wheel, awestruck and giddy.

The single key is hanging from the ignition, and Rodney momentarily wishes they had a key ring, just so he could make it swing.

John runs his palm up the curve of the steering wheel, which is still ratty and sun damaged. He exhales hard, but when he turns to face Rodney his express is calm and serious. He says, "Can we drive?" like that's the most important question he's ever asked.

Rodney runs through the list he's been keeping in his head of systems that they've worked on, what's finished. Brake lines, fuel injectors, piston housings. They've tested everything, and Rodney has made sure it would all move properly with his gift, over and over again those nights that he couldn't sleep. He grins, reaching out to grab John's hand to put it on the stick shift. All he can manage in reply is a nod.

John makes a delighted, crowing sound, beaming at Rodney before he abruptly sobers. When he puts the car into reverse, it stalls out, and Rodney laughs helplessly as John's ears stain red. John says, blushing, "Let's try that again," and this time they make it out of the garage.

For a moment they sit idling in the driveway, John grinning again, embarrassment already forgotten. Rodney stares at him, his heart beating double-time in his chest, his hand still over John's on the gearshift. The late afternoon sun is pounding down on the car, the air conditioner is not working, and the rumble of the engine is flooding in through the open windows.

John breathes, sounding awed, turning to look at Rodney, "Wow."

Rodney grins, biting his bottom lip and bouncing a little in place, thrilled that John is as happy about this as he is. "And you haven't even driven it yet!" John stares for a moment, and then nods, shifting around on the seat and rubbing the steering wheel again.

Rodney starts to scoot to the side, towards the passenger seat, and John startles, dropping a hand to Rodney knee, looking puzzled when he asks, "Where are you going?" Rodney stares down at John's hand on his leg for a long moment, feeling warmth rise in his chest, and then settles back against John's side, pulling the seatbelt out and hooking it with fingers that feel thick.

"Nowhere. You ready?" They're pressed close together, and Rodney has to shift a little sideways, hooking his left arm over the back of the seat for them to fit comfortably. John squeezes Rodney's knee, still smiling when he finally takes a deep breath and backs them out onto the road.

When John stalls the car again trying to get it in first, Rodney presses his mouth against the other boy's shoulder, laughing. John says, sounding more happy than indignant, "Come on, I've only driven a stick once before."

Rodney does his best to muffle his laughter, reaching his hand up to rub at the back of John's neck, absent apology that makes John startle and suck in a deep breath before going completely still. Rodney says, after a moment, "You're doing fine."

John's voice is oddly rough when he says, "Yeah."

* * *

They drive around, aimless and random, for close to two hours. They end up out at a state park that Rodney's never been to before, and John parks them on a hill. Rodney blinks, raising his head from John's shoulder, where he'd been half asleep, lulled by the movement of the car and the heat. He mumbles, "What's going on?"

John shifts in the seat, ducking his head when he says, "Nothing. I just thought you might want to, you know, stretch your legs some?" He's blushing again.

Rodney stretches, rubbing his eyes and nodding, "Sounds good." The door screeches loudly when Rodney opens it to crawl out, and it dips a little towards the ground. He'd already known it needed repaired, and closes it carefully, looking over the top of the car at John, who is stretching, arms extended up to the sky.

The dying sunlight shines off of him, and Rodney rests his hands on the hood of the car, staring. After a moment John looks at him, and then blinks, head cocking to the side. Rodney drops his gaze to stare at the ground instead, scuffing his toe against the gravel. When John touches his wrist, Rodney startles, blinking up at him.

John is smiling, shifting his grip so that he's holding Rodney's hand when he says softly, "Come on, let's walk."

All Rodney can do is nod, squeezing John's hand and letting the other boy pull him along.

The air is starting to cool down now, though it's still heavy and thick, not a sign of a breeze anywhere. In the shadows under the trees it's even moderately tolerable. Rodney leans against John, listening to the gravel under their feet, the faint birdcalls overhead.

It doesn't take Rodney long to get tired of listening, shifting and frowning a little, "What do you think that stuff on the windshield is? I think we should get Elizabeth to try to get it off. Cold is one of the most effective ways to get off sticky things, I think."

John laughs, bumping his shoulder into Rodney's and making them both sway. He says, "Or we could use a scraper."

Rodney frowns, thinking about that, and then shrugs. It might work.

* * *

By the time they make it back to the car, the sun is setting. Rodney pauses and looks across at the horizon, the sunset painting everything fiery red and orange. It looks so big, so huge, that it's hard for him to even grasp it.

"Rodney," John's voice makes Rodney blink, look back down to this Earth. The other boy is sitting on the hood of the car, knees pulled up, his arms resting across them. He has his head tilted to the side, watching Rodney instead of the sunset. He extends a hand towards Rodney, raising his eyebrows.

Rodney climbs onto the hood, the metal still hot from the residual heat of the sun and the engine. He pulls himself over to John, squirming around to get comfortable when the other boy pulls him down against the windshield. He looks to make sure he's not going to lie in the sticky spot before reclining, pillowing his head on John's shoulder, and humming happily.

The hood is not the most comfortable surface he's ever laid on. But John being there makes up for a lot. Rodney sighs, wrapping an arm around John's waist, watching the sun sink closer and closer to the horizon. He can just feel the slight pressure of John's fingers, trailing back and forth over his side.

And Rodney is surprised to find that his mind is quiet.

Here, like this, just him and John, is the best he can remember feeling, maybe ever. There's no one around to ask him for anything. There's no one here that is, or could potentially be, a threat. There's just John, his chest shifting them both just a little bit with each breath he takes, his arm curled around Rodney's back.

Rodney's chest feels tight, relief making him lightheaded. The sun is burning up the sky, and Rodney squeezes his eyes shut, hand fisting up in John's shirt without him even realizing it, his heart racing in his chest, impossibly fast.

John shifts up, just a little, voice concerned, "Hey, you okay?" He tries to tilt Rodney's chin up, fingers warm and familiar against Rodney's skin, but Rodney tucks his face against John's neck, feeling his skin burn with heat. "Rodney? Look, I didn't—we don't have to stay here, we can—"

"I like this." The words are just there, spoken before Rodney can decide if he should say them or not. He feels John go still, swallowing and continuing, "I like this a lot. We should do this again."

John relaxes, the tension draining out of his body even as he tightens his hold on Rodney. He's turned his face down, speaks against Rodney's hair, "We can. We can come out here every day if you want." And Rodney knows John means it, because John doesn't lie to him.

Rodney smiles, expression still hidden against John's skin, and says, "Yeah? I'd like that." He thinks it over for a moment, and then shifts up so he can look at John, "I think we should bring a blanket or something, next time. Maybe some kind of cushion? And, hey, you could make us sandwiches, right?"

John just grins at him, looking content, happy, and a little proud of himself when he says, "Whatever you want."

* * *

John is as good as his word. Late in the afternoon every day he goes to get the key to the car, bouncing it in his palm while raising his eyebrows in question. They get a thick quilt that takes up residence in the backseat of the car, and John's father buys them a picnic basket after laughing at the little plastic bags that they had been using to transport the food.

It takes Rodney some time to get the air conditioner working again, and eventually he just cheats and fixes it with his gift. It's getting murderously hot out and John's hair looks funny when it gets all tangled from driving with the windows down. Rodney does the same thing with the radio, just until they get something that doesn't play eight tracks, and then they can leave the doors open and listen to music while they eat or relax, the sun setting overhead.

Rodney thinks that, if the curfew wasn't still in place, he'd like to sleep out on the hood of the car, beneath the stars, curled up against John. Sometimes he thinks about just breaking it, staying out and damn anyone that has a problem with it, but John is bound and determined to get them home on time and won't budge on the issue.

So John makes sure that they make it back home before the stars even really come out, and Rodney pushes down another sharp flare of anger at the people that caused that. As though people like them didn't have enough problems before.

One night when they get home, John still humming the last song that was on the radio, they find John's parents sitting out on the front porch. Rodney feels a sting of ice across his shoulders, John going silent beside him, both of them hurrying up the steps.

John's mother is nursing a beer, still wearing her scrubs, her husband sitting beside her with an arm wrapped around her shoulders. They both jerk to their feet when Rodney and John step onto the porch, and Rodney finds himself being embraced by John's mother, and squeezed hard. He's noticed that the Sheppards do that a lot.

After a half second Mrs. Sheppard releases him, moving to grab John instead. Mr. Sheppard's attentions are more reserved, an arm around John's shoulder, a hand messing up Rodney's hair while Rodney demands, "What's wrong? What's going on?"

"We need to get you boys a cell phone," Mrs. Sheppard laughs, though she doesn't sound amused, taking another drink of her beer. Her husband brushes his hand against her shoulder and she sways into the touch, continuing in a lighter voice, "What park is it that you go to?"

Rodney frowns, and then looks at John, because he doesn't ever pay very much attention to the drive, preoccupied with listening to the sound of the engine and soaking in John's warmth. John is still staring back and forth between his parents, looking tense and worried when he finally answers, "Red Run, you know, up north of town?"

John's mother visibly sags, leaning into her husband, who says, "Thank God," and Rodney grabs John's hand. John squeezes, turning to look at him, pulling him closer, until they're pressed together.

Rodney opens his mouth to ask why they're thanking God, but John's mother answers before he can, "There was an...incident. Out at Cohen's Gap. You remember officer Helms? You know the camping trip they had planned at the lake? We thought... Well. I'm glad we were wrong." She still looks pale and worried, and Rodney reaches out to grab her hand as well, swallowing heavily before he can make himself talk.

"The G.E.N.I.I. attacked someone?" because he can remember officer Helms, lined up against a wall, waiting for a firing squad

For a moment, she just looks confused, and then she laughs, shaking her head. "No. No, it was some kind of camping accident." And the relief of that seems wrong, because obviously something bad happened. And yet, Rodney can't help but sighing heavily, leaning against John and feeling some of the tension and nerves ease in his gut.

* * *

The camping accident turns out to be not exactly something Rodney would have filed under 'accidental'.

A group of five friends had been camping, apparently perfectly sane people that really wanted to go without showers or real bathrooms for a couple of days. Rodney doesn't particularly understand that himself, but people do a lot of things he doesn't understand, and camping is one of the less destructive ones, so he doesn't judge.

They'd been camping three days, their families not expecting them back for an additional four, when Helms had wandered out of the woods. The man had scared the hell out of the people swimming in the lake, and caused a huge panic.

The panic was because Helms had been covered in blood, dripping with it, and screaming at the top of his lungs. The police had arrived, but not before he collapsed facedown on the sand, jerked around, and then died.

People at the scene said that Helms had been naked, face and arms covered in scratches under the blood. And that his throat had been ripped out, from his right ear down to his collarbone. The police reported it as an animal attack.

And then one of the older ladies that jogged around the lake every day had found the other four bodies.

She's all over the news by the time they finally go inside. The woman is obviously still upset, pale and looking ill. She keeps saying that the bodies were torn apart, over and over again, her eyes glazed over, until one of the EMTs comes over and wraps a blanket over her shoulders, leading her away.

Rodney stares at the screen, and then meets John's gaze. John has his lips pressed tight together, his hands balled up into fists. When he speaks, his voice is rough and tense, "It was just an animal."

And Rodney doesn't ask what kind of animal could rip four people limb from limb and tear the throat out of another. He doesn't want to know. And besides, that's what the cops are saying, as well. It doesn't make it true, but it does make it the truth that they have.

The next morning, John's parents insist on them getting a cell phone, no matter how many times John points out that they're perfectly capable of protecting themselves. All his mother says, mind already made up, is, "Well, we want to be able to know that the protecting went okay." And then, obviously trying to lighten the situation, "Aren't you supposed to want a cellphone?"

John shrugs, absently poking at the buttons on their new phone until Rodney reaches out and takes it away from him, "I never really thought about needing one." He looks at Rodney, and then down to the ground, and Rodney rolls his eyes, sliding the phone into his pocket, then frowning and concentrating to reshape it so it doesn't dig into his hip.

* * *

The next day, Teyla shows up in the middle of breakfast. She looks exhausted, and Rodney sends a burst of apology through their link, wincing. She rolls her eyes and hugs him, whispering into his ear, "That man will never touch you again." And he wants to believe her so badly, but can't quite manage it.

John is looking at them oddly when she pulls away, his expression sour, though he smoothes it out almost immediately. By the time he says, "Hey, let me make you a plate," he's smiling. Rodney blinks at him curiously, but John offers no explanation, and if Teyla knows, she doesn't share either.

She does raise her eyebrow at Rodney's deformed pancakes, their shape twisted and bumpy while all the others are perfectly round. Rodney shrugs, blushing, and blurts, "Hey, you want to go for a ride in the Charger?" before she can ask about them.

Teyla smiles at him knowingly anyway, and John sets down her plate a little harder than necessary when she says, "I would love to."

* * *

In the end, they pick up Ronon and Elizabeth as well. Rodney doesn't have the fondest memories of Elizabeth's house, but they don't have to go inside this time, just wait out on the curb for her. They have the quilt spread out on the back seat to prevent any spring accidents, and it's plenty big enough to handle three people.

Especially because Elizabeth is pretty much sitting on Ronon's lap, talking excitedly about the college she got accepted into. Rodney thinks John might still be a little weird about the college thing, because he's mostly silent, a little bit tense where Rodney is leaning against him.

John doesn't even protest when Rodney suggests turns. Teyla reaches forward from the back seat, gripping Rodney's shoulder and frowning, and all he can do is shrug. He has to know. Rodney is no good at all of letting things lie, even when he probably should. Especially when he probably should.

Elizabeth is still talking happily about the courses she wants to take in the fall when Rodney says, "Turn right," and John slams on the brakes beside the sign for Cohen's Gap State Park. For a moment the only sound in the car is the radio.

John turns to look at him slowly, asks, "Rodney?" with a tilt of his head to the side.

Rodney tilts his chin up, unable to cross his arms with his left draped over the back of the seat. "I just think we should look around. I mean. We have Ronon with us, he can smell around and make sure that it's not, you know, that it's not someone we—" He cuts himself off, looking out the windshield, biting at his bottom lip.

The touch of John's fingers against his cheek is a surprise, turning Rodney's face back. John looks serious, eyes dark and steady, "Hey, listen to me, okay? Kolya is never going to hurt you again. Not ever. But you're right. We should check this out. Just to make sure there's nothing we can do."

Rodney has to swallow hard, his throat tight. He manages a nod after a moment, and John brushes his thumb across Rodney's cheek. In the backseat everyone is suspiciously quiet, and Rodney turns to glare at them. They all look out the windows. Rodney has a feeling that Elizabeth is at any moment about to burst out whistling.

By the time John parks, no one has said a word. And then Elizabeth asks, as they're getting out of the car, "So, how are we supposed to find this place anyway?"

Rodney opens his mouth to explain that he'd been thinking of doing a grid search, and looking for the police tape. Ronon interrupts, head tipped up, eyes closed as he breathes deeply, "Can smell the blood. That way." He points east.

And well, that answers that.

* * *

The third time Rodney trips over a tree root he starts thinking that this might not really have been the best idea. John catches him before he can fall on his face, and Rodney smiles at him tightly. John offers, as Rodney kicks a rock, "I can carry you."

In front of them, Ronon makes a sound that is suspiciously cough-life. Rodney glares at the back of the taller boy's head, and tries not to blush. He mumbles, "I'm okay. Just clumsy." John hums, and leaves his hand resting against Rodney's lower back.

The undergrowth is thick, bushes and briars catching at their legs with each step. Ronon isn't bothering to follow a trail, just cutting straight towards the smell of the blood. Rodney is certain that he's going to be covered in poison by the time this is over, and also that he's probably about to step on a snake. He'd feel better if Carson was along, but the healer's parents still haven't relented in their protectiveness, even with the G.E.N.I.I. disbanded.

The heat isn't helping matters either. Elizabeth is the only one of them not sweating, little crystals of ice forming along the seams of her clothing and then melting, over and over again. It's fascinating to watch, and Rodney shakes his head, because he really needs to pay attention to where he's stepping.

Rodney is just opening his mouth to ask how much further it is, when Ronon goes still. The rest of them follow suit after crowding around him, though Rodney can't see a damn thing through the thick trees. John whispers after a moment, "What is it?"

Ronon blinks, shakes himself like he's coming out of a daze. And then he bends over at the waist, and throws up all over the little dead bush by his feet. Rodney shouts, "Holy shit!" and hears it echoed around the group, Elizabeth reaching out to support Ronon, the rest of them moving a second after her.

Elizabeth is saying, sounding half-hysterical, like Rodney has never heard her sound, "What's going on? Are you okay? Ronon, please talk to me," and Rodney wonders how much of the panic is from the fact that she had to watch Sumner die right in front of her. He doubts that's something you just get over.

After a long moment Ronon straightens, spitting and then wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. He looks a little ashen, like there's too much white around his eyes when he grunts out, "I'm fine. Just. Something smells...wrong, here. Bad. Very bad."

Rodney automatically raises his hand to cover his nose, and John pulls him a little closer. Teyla says, "Perhaps we should—"

And Rodney cuts her off, because he knows she's going to say the sensible thing, "Where does it smell wrong?" Teyla sighs, shaking her head just a little bit, and Rodney sends her another wave of apology. He can't stop pushing. He never learned how, and he doesn't care to start now.

Ronon spits again, nodding his head towards the line of trees in front of them, "Through there. Whatever it is, it's dead now. Can smell its death stink too."

John squeezes Rodney's hand, and Rodney looks up at him. Then John nods, and says, "You guys wait here," and they walk forward together. Branches catch at their arms, and one whips across Rodney's cheek, leaving a stinging scratch behind.

And then they step into the camp clearing. It's surrounded by police tape. There are still two tents in the circle, though they're really just destroyed lumps of canvas and metal pipes now. There's blood everywhere, soaking into the ground, splattered over the tents and trees and the one shredded sleeping bag.

Rodney croaks, "Oh, fuck," and John squeezes his hand tighter, making a soft grunting sound. All the bushes in the area are crushed down, and it looks like the camp fire might have gotten a little out of hand, if the char marks up the side of an old oak are anything to go by.

John says, after a long moment, "No human did this," voice thick and shaky.

Rodney nods, but then amends, "No normal human," because he's seen gifted people that could wreak this kind of destruction without batting an eye, that could easily shred the tents and tear people limb from limb. But it does seem slightly beyond the strength of anyone not a freak.

When John turns, pulling Rodney along, Rodney is grateful. He doesn't want to have to look at the campsite anymore, his stomach tense and aching. When they get back to the others, Elizabeth is still rubbing Ronon's back, frowning, worried.

Teyla looks up, dark eyes concerned, looking as though she's not sure if she should be hopeful or not, "Did you find anything?"

John shakes his head, and Rodney swallows around the bitter taste in his throat, asking Ronon, "You don't smell—I mean, just so we're clear, you don't smell—" and he doesn't understand why he can't say the name, why the tightness in his chest won't allow it.

Ronon knows anyway, looking up and staring at Rodney hard for a long moment before tilting his head to the side and saying, tone oddly careful, "He wasn't here."

And Rodney tells himself he should be relieved, but walking back to the car he can't quite manage it.

Once they're back at the Charger John looks around, frowning, and then asks, "Wait, this was the lake we were going to go swimming in? Because I don't know if that's such a great idea."

* * *

##### Part Two

For months after the time Rodney spent under the mountain, all he had were nightmares. He'd always been a little too imaginative for his own good, and, provided with that much fodder, his mind had went on a field day with dreams that left him choking on his own breath and panicked.

In a way, it had been a good thing.

Rodney wakes up slowly, feeling warm and content. It's cloudy outside, or else just really early, because the room is still gray. Rodney doesn't mind. He hums, shifting around, pressing back against John, and only realizing then that he's not dreaming anymore. The pillow that John stuffs between them when he sleeps, because if not he overheats, had definitely not been there in Rodney's dream.

Rodney feels himself blush, relieved that John is apparently still asleep, snoring softly, his breath brushing across the side of Rodney's neck. The nightmares are plenty bad, but they're better than the dreams that Rodney is sure would put an abrupt and final end to his friendship with John.

He's tried to stop having them, but his mind is insistent and shows no sign of letting up. The images are all jumbled together now, but Rodney doesn't have to be able to play them in order to know what they were, to remember the fierce swell of want beating through his entire body, to remember his fingers tangled in John's hair and John's mouth—

And this isn't something he should be thinking about. It's bad enough that he imagines it while he sleeps. John deserves better than a friend that has dirty dreams about him. Rodney frowns, biting at his bottom lip and willing away the dreams, the thoughts and, more than anything, his body's physical reaction to both.

John grumbles something in his sleep, stretching briefly, his hand flattening on Rodney's stomach and sliding down with the movement. John re-settles with a huff, leaving his hand where it is, his fingers shoved right up against and partially over the waistband of Rodney's boxers.

Rodney freezes, body locking up tense and tight. He's staring at the wall, but not really seeing it, panic making his blood burn in his veins, getting his heart pumping way too fast. John's breath is hot and moist against his neck, John's hand is way, way, too close to an unpleasant discovery, and Rodney only realizes he's dangerously close to hyperventilating when he actually does.

On the plus side, the sheer terror takes care of his erection. Unfortunately, it also wakes up John, who grunts and shifts up, rolling Rodney onto his back, pulling his shoulders a little up off the bed and soothing, "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm right here, you're okay."

Rodney shakes his head, gasping desperately at the air, and John is rubbing his back, continuing, "Deep and slow, okay? Deep and slow, it's fine, it was just a dream." Rodney laughs, hitching and unsteady. John just shushes him, pulling Rodney closer, curling around him, continuing, "Was it—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Rodney manages not to stutter his way through the words, gripping at John's back and shoulders even though he knows he shouldn't. John just nods, running his fingers back through Rodney's hair, rocking them both gently back and forth. Rodney squeezes his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip, and feels like an asshole.

The nightmares are definitely better than this.

* * *

When Teyla calls, the first thing she says, voice hard and tense, leaving no room for argument of any kind, is, "Carson's parents are going away this weekend. You are helping me get him out of that house."

Rodney blinks, waving his hand when John raises an eyebrow from the stove. John goes back to frying the eggs with a shrug. Rodney adjusts the phone, letting it stand on his shoulder while he grabs the milk, saying, "Good morning to you too. Of course we'll help."

"You will. I do not even want to discuss the state I woke in this morning." Some of the iron has eased out of Teyla's voice, giving way to amusement and a bit of pity. Rodney feels himself flush, hurrying over to the table and sinking down into his chair to watch John cook. She says, after a moment, "It is nothing to be ashamed of, Rodney."

Rodney frowns, biting his tongue against pointing out that she could just as easily be using Carson as her anchor point and not having to deal with his stupid brain. He doesn't know why she hasn't, but after everything Teyla has done for him, it doesn't feel right to not let her do as she wishes.

He manages, while John curses over popping one of the yolks, "Yes, well, if there's nothing else?"

Teyla sighs, "Rodney—"

"Then we'll see you this weekend," and he hangs up, scowling down at the phone. He hopes that when his dreams bleed through into her head she only gets the gist of them, because he doesn't like the idea of her being able to see John the way Rodney imagines him.

John asks, "Everything okay?" He's frowning at the frying pan, hair wet and spiky from his shower. Rodney winces when John reaches into the pan to flip a sausage link with his fingers, even knowing that it's not going to hurt him. When Rodney doesn't answer right away, John looks up, blinking and looking concerned.

Rodney shrugs, forcing a smile, "Everything is great." And then, because he shouldn't have to be the only one that has to deal with it, "Teyla wants us to help her get laid this weekend." John chokes, coughing into his hand and Rodney springs out of the chair, hurrying across to him and rubbing his shoulders.

* * *

Breaking Carson out itself isn't particularly difficult. All Carson has to do is walk out the front door. But, his parents are likely to call at least a dozen times according to Carson, and will most likely hop on a plane and head right back if he doesn't answer immediately.

It takes Rodney a few minutes to get the home phone set up to ring through to Carson's cell. It's easier to erase their presence from the security cameras. Teyla and Carson spend the entire time whispering softly to each other and standing entirely too closely for Rodney's comfort. John's too, if his expression is anything to go by.

And then they're home free. Rodney pokes John in the shoulder, and they leave the house with as little fanfare as they arrived. Carson looks across at them as they cross the yard, his cheeks still crimson, mouth reddened with Teyla's lip gloss when he asks, "So, where are we dropping you two off then?" Rodney thinks it the other boy were any more excited he'd be vibrating in place.

Rodney rolls his eyes, gesturing past Teyla's car to the Charger. It's starting to look good now, to match the way it drives. With all the rust spots patched up, the windows all in their proper place, and the body sprayed gray in anticipation of the paint job, it looks gorgeous, if he does say so himself.

John says, "You kids have fun now," grinning, pulling Rodney by the wrist towards the Charger. Carson nods hurriedly, and then Teyla is pulling him down, kissing him again and Rodney rolls his eyes, crawling into the front seat and waiting for John. They still really need to finish with the interior, but John had wanted the outside to look sharp, and Rodney had humored him. He has to admit that it's nice to not be driving around in a car that's four different colors, but the springs poking him in the ass have got to go.

"Think they'll even make it into the car?" John asks while sliding into his seat. He's grinning, no sting to the words, and Rodney snickers into his hand. Teyla and Carson are leaning against the hood of her car now, all over each other and Rodney looks away abruptly, feeling the undercurrent of her want, feeling himself blush.

"Maybe you should leave before we're scarred for life?" And before the whole scenario gives Rodney's brain anymore ideas that it really doesn't need. He's not sure how he's supposed to be able to sprawl out across the hood with John if he keeps imagining doing that with him.

John clears his throat, "Right, yes," and then they're pulling out, John laying on the horn as they pass Teyla and Carson, who are, it appears, intent on moving even faster. Rodney pointedly does not look in the rear view mirror as they speed away.

* * *

They're almost to the park when John says, while they're idling at a light, "So. Carson and Teyla."

Rodney looks across at him, but John is staring out the windshield with a tight look, giving nothing away. Rodney shifts around, frowning, "Yeah. They're not exactly a new thing, John." Because Teyla had never been shy or hesitant about a damn thing since Rodney had known her, and she certainly hadn't been with Carson.

John makes a face, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger and tracing the curve of the steering wheel, "No, I know that. I just mean, you know. He's, I don't know, we know he's telling the truth about being stuck at home, right?"

Rodney can't help smiling, leaning his cheek against John's shoulder. It's sweet when John gets protective. He says, "I don't think he's lying. You see how he looks at her. And he's a good guy." John hums, the light changing, just in time for the next one to turn red. Rodney momentarily thinks about changing it, but then decides that might cause some serious problems. Instead he continues, "Besides, he knows we'll kick his ass if he hurts her."

That gets a laugh from John, and he drops his hand off the gearshift while they idle at the light, squeezing Rodney's knee. His thumb rubs back and forth against the denim, and Rodney thinks that maybe he should wear shorts, wonders if John would do the same thing if it was his skin and startles when the car behind them honks when the light turns green.

John sighs, "You're right. I just." He waves a hand, stopping at the next light, "I just worry. She likes him a lot." And Rodney nods, and then blinks when someone shouts at them from the car stopped in the left hand lane.

John startles, turning to look, Rodney lifting his head and blinking across at the three girls half-hanging out of their tiny convertible. Rodney doesn't recognize them from school, which doesn't mean much, because he can't say that he's ever paid very much attention to the other students.

Their shouting is indistinct, and John rolls the window down after a moment, frowning and looking confused. The girl in the back of the other car throws her hands up, collapsing sideways with a burst of laughter. Rodney stares at them, not sure what to make of them.

The one in the passenger seat, wearing a bikini top, her arms folded across the door, shouts, "That's a nice car!" Her friends both wave, and when they drive to the next light none of them sit down. Or keep their eyes on the road. Rodney frowns at them, and shifts a little closer to John, which isn't easy considering how close they already were.

The girls all turn to look at one another for a moment, laughing and then the one in the passenger seat leans out of the car again, gesturing with her phone when she shouts, "What's your number?"

The lanes in town are narrow. They're close enough that the girls have to be able to look right into the car, and Rodney finds himself scowling, something hard and sour in his stomach. John just looks confused, turning his head to look at Rodney, mouth opening around a question.

Rodney is busy. He unbuckles his seat belt, leaning across John, one hand braced on John's thigh for balance, and yells back, "You should call a mechanic instead!" and when the light turns green he salutes with one finger, guiding the Charger forward while smoke pours out of the convertible's engine.

Smirking, Rodney shifts back to sit down, finds John staring at him with huge eyes, mouth hanging open just a little bit. Rodney flushes, jerking his hand off of John's leg and mumbles, "Their fuel pump was in the process of breaking anyway, I just gave it a nudge."

And then John is grinning, shaking his head and laughing, like he doesn't mind that Rodney just ruined his chances with three hot girls. Rodney feels something in his chest ease, dropping his head back down to John's shoulder, and, after a moment's hesitation, wrapping his arm around John's waist. John doesn't seem to mind that, either.

It's not fair, to try to keep other people from having John, but he can't stop himself. John is his.

* * *

The next time they see Teyla she is in a substantially better mood, and Rodney tries really hard not to be jealous. His impossible, hopeless crush is in no way her fault, and, honestly, he is happy for her. He'd just like to be happy for himself, as well.

She and Elizabeth are softly talking as they walk back from the graveyard. Rodney isn't sure which one of them decided to start leaving flowers on Aiden and Sumner's graves. He's fairly sure it was Elizabeth's idea. He wonders if it makes Ronon jealous, but the boy doesn't ever seem bothered by the daisies that Elizabeth leaves by the headstones.

Rodney still feels cold every time they go by the cemetery, even in the thick, stifling heat of summer. He leans into John, arms crossed, John's arm around his shoulders. Ronon is walking a step in front of them, head turning slowly from side to side, taking in all the sensory information around them.

Rodney is pretty sure they make a weird procession, but he doesn't really care.

John sighs when they walk past one of the normal middle schools, his tone going soft and wistful when he says, "I miss baseball."

For a moment no one replies. Rodney stares at him, head cocked to the side, because John hadn't mentioned that particular habit before, and then Teyla is turning around, blinking when she says, "I can get free tickets to see the local team." And when everyone stares at her, she shrugs, "My uncle is one of the announcers."

And Rodney wants to protest, because the last thing he wants to do is go watch a bunch of guys swing around pieces of wood and run around for no good reason. But John is smiling huge, bouncing up onto the balls of his feet and enthusing, "Really? Wait, there's a local team? What's the schedule?"

Rodney sighs, and resigns himself to uncomfortable seats, drunken crowds, and what he's sure will be a suitably traumatizing mascot.

* * *

It's just as well that Teyla gets free tickets, because they can only stay for the whole game when it's a matinee. The goddamn curfew is getting more and more annoying, especially when it means that Rodney has to watch John sigh sadly every time they leave in the middle of a game.

Rodney can't muster any real enthusiasm for the sport himself, but John follows the game with an intensity that's a little frightening, and cheers in a way that Rodney feels sure is unnecessarily loud. He doesn't really mind, laughing and cheering himself, glad to see John relaxing and happy. Even if it is over the most ridiculous game ever.

Ronon's mother comes to a lot of the games, which is a little awkward at first. Rodney likes her, but he has no idea how to act around her. He barely even knows how to act around John's parents half the time, and he doesn't know her nearly as well.

Still, when Ronon explains that she gets nervous when he's around a large crowd, it's not like they can complain about her sitting with them. Rodney figures she can't be blamed, and John buys her hotdogs and nachos every game, smiling at her and then hugging Rodney hard. Rodney doesn't exactly understand why the two things seem to be connected, but it's not hurting anything, so he lets John continue.

Besides, John doesn't complain when Rodney manages to always be in the bathroom during the pledge of allegiance. Rodney isn't entirely sure how his citizenship is worked out at the moment, but the tight ball of anger in his chest won't let him just stand there and listen. John doesn't say a thing, just tags along, and doesn't comment when Rodney spends the entire time washing his hands.

Rodney manages a tight smile when they go back to their seats, leaning back against John's hand, resting against his lower back. The players are already in their places, the first batter shifting his weight around as the pitcher stares him down from the mound. John says, as they climb the bleachers to their seats, "I'm going to catch a ball one of these days."

Rodney just rolls his eyes, grinning honestly now, teasing, "Sure. And then you can get Bozo to sign it."

John pinches him in the side, making a face, "That's not funny." Rodney laughs. He's still not entirely sure what John's issue with the clown mascot is. John refuses to talk about it, and for the most part they sit high enough in the bleachers that they're ignored by the wandering clown.

"It's a little funny," Rodney steps over Ronon's legs, nodding at Ms. Dex, and sighing when he sits down on the hard seat. John is still frowning when he sits down, and Rodney bumps their shoulders together, promising, "I'll protect you from the big bad clown, okay?"

John snorts, but he's smiling, leaning into Rodney's touch, and grumbling, "You better."

And that's when the batter foul-tips a ball and Rodney has time to hear the shouting before Ronon's mom goes over backwards, cursing loudly.

* * *

Ronon's mom is fine, though the skin around her eye swells up almost immediately. Elizabeth makes her an ice block, and Ronon peels his shirt off to wrap it in. She spends the entire time protesting that she's just fine, and trying to wave them all away. Ronon ignores her protests, pulling her to her feet and dragging her off to the first aid station, Elizabeth hurrying after them.

Teyla retrieves the stray baseball, bouncing it in her hand and frowning. Rodney's heart rate is just staring to slow down, and he shoves John in the shoulder, shaking a little when he snaps, "No catching balls for you, okay? Don't even think about it."

John catches Rodney's wrist, squeezing softly when he says, "Hey, Rodney, it's not—"

Rodney cuts him off, shaking his head, "No. I'm not joking." He knows, logically, that being hit by the tiny thing wouldn't hurt John in any way. But knowing it and believing it are two different things, and Rodney feels sick, sitting down heavily and trying to breathe steadily.

After a moment John sits down beside him, rubbing a hand up and down Rodney's back and promising, "Okay, okay, I'll just buy one if I want one, okay?" And Rodney manages a jerky nod, rocking back against John's hand, rubbing a hand up over his face. He knows he shouldn't freak out about things like this. Normal people don't freak out about things like this. That's not getting rid of the cold lump of dread beneath his ribs.

"Nothing can happen to you," Rodney hadn't meant to blurt that, but it comes out anyway. He looks up, meeting John's gaze, trying to make sure he understands. Which doesn't even make sense, because Rodney isn't sure he understands himself.

John is nodding, though, sliding his hand up and cupping the back of Rodney's neck, "Nothing will. To you either, okay?" Rodney nods back, reaching up and grabbing John's arm, just holding on until Teyla sits down on his other side, still turning the ball over and over in her hands.

One of the people in front of them twists around, almost sloshing his beer over Teyla's shoes when he demands, "Hey, let me see that."

Rodney glares at him, snapping automatically, "What's the magic word?" and feeling John laugh beside him. The man blinks at him, expression going from surprised to irritated in seconds, and Rodney just stares back. He's seen worse, and something about the man irritates him, though Rodney can't quite put his finger on what it is. The man is...more...than he should be.

Then the man is standing, setting down his beer and leaning forward, "I wasn't talking to you." He looks back to Teyla, motioning impatiently for the baseball with one large hand. Teyla makes a face, pulling it closer and shifting back in her seat.

Her voice is calm and soft when she says, "I am holding it for a friend, and you do not intend to return it."

The man makes a scornful, impatient sound, stepping up over his seat, reaching for Teyla. Rodney hears John growl, pushes Teyla sideways, and looks up in time to watch John grab and squeeze the man's wrist. The man gasps, trying to jerk away, and John scowls down at him, tone sharp, "Go find someone else to bother," and releases him.

The man pulls his arm close to his chest, rubbing the reddened skin at his wrist and staring at John with narrowed eyes. When no one moves for a long moment, John takes a step sideways, putting himself in front of Teyla and Rodney, hands balled up into fists.

After a long moment the man snorts, turns around and sits down. John keeps glaring at the back of his head, and Rodney finally reaches out, tugging on the back of John's shirt and saying, "Hey, it's okay." John is tense, but nods jerkily, exhaling and turning to smile at Rodney, shaking his head when he sits down.

John says, "At this rate we're going to miss the whole game."

Rodney opens his mouth to point out that that's not exactly a bad thing, all said and done, and the man in front of them leans over to grumble to one of his buddies, "Can't even go to a ball game without running into those freaks."

Teyla sucks in a breath, resting a hand on Rodney's shoulder, saying, "We don't need to—"

But Rodney isn't really listening, because goddamnit, but John likes these stupid games. He's happy and relaxed while they're here, and Rodney isn't going to just sit still and listen to some asshole with a weird magnetic field ruin the whole thing. Rodney jerks to his feet, reaching forward to knock the man's baseball cap off.

The man stands slowly, turning to face them with his expression gone dark and furious. Rodney crosses his arms and glares at him, absently noting the cellphone hanging from the man's belt, the lighter in his pocket, the watch on his wrist, the automatic lock-unlock mechanism for his car hanging from his key ring.

Rodney tilts his chin up, smirking, "You were saying something?" John is standing beside him, and Rodney can feel the other boy's fingers curling into the waistband of his pants. Teyla is a rising on his other side, and she might have been trying to diffuse the situation, but the brush of her thoughts against his is every bit as full of anger as Rodney's feel.

Around the man, his friends stand, big and angry and probably drunk. Rodney almost feels sorry for them.

And then Elizabeth is saying, from the steps, her arms crossed and the air temperature dropping all around them, "Is there a problem here?" Ronon is standing at her shoulder, looking tense and agitated. Rodney doesn't see the other boy's mother.

The big man turns to sneer at Elizabeth, voice sharp, "And who the hell are you?"

Elizabeth sighs, raising one eyebrow, disappointment as well as dripping off of her expression, "I'm someone who'd really like to watch the rest of the ballgame, just like you. Now, how about we all take a deep breath, and just relax. Your beer is getting warm."

Rodney opens his mouth to protest, because these assholes deserve a beating, and there is something wrong with the one, even if he can't quite tell what it is. John grabs his hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing. Rodney turns to look at him, blinking in surprise, and John shrugs, offering as explanation, "I really do just want to watch the game, Rodney."

For a moment no one moves, and then Elizabeth primly sits down, crossing her legs and staring pointedly down at the field. The men exchange looks before settling back down, grumbling indistinctly. Rodney glares at the back of their heads, but retakes his seat.

John sits beside him, nudging him in the shoulder, still holding Rodney's hand, "Not that I'm not flattered by your defense of my honor." When Rodney turns to look at him, John is grinning, expression happy and teasing.

Rodney rolls his eyes, shoving back, "Oh, shut up."

And then Teyla is asking what happened to Ronon's mother, and handing over the baseball. Rodney feels himself relax. John holds his hand for the rest of the game. It's nice, and Rodney hates it even more when they have to get up and leave to go home.

* * *

John's parents come with them to a day game, on a Saturday after John's mother takes one look at her husband and decides that he needs to relax. Rodney thinks she's right, when he takes a moment to look at the man. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his mouth is thin and tight. Rodney starts praying that whatever has gone wrong isn't his fault.

The game is almost over, the home team winning for once, when Mr. Sheppard takes a deep breath and Rodney braces himself. The nerves that he's been wrestling with the whole day crawl up his throat, and he balls his hands up in his lap, barely hearing John's loud cheers on his other side.

He's known this was too good to last, right from the very beginning.

Mr. Sheppard says, turning towards Rodney, resting a hand on his shoulder, and Rodney has to concentrate not to flinch, "I hate to ask you this, but you stand the best chance of knowing. When you were...in that place, did you know what the other children could do?"

Rodney blinks, and then blinks again. There's not a lot of John in his father, except for the eyes and around the jaw line. But he's always been a nice man, and now he looks stressed out, sick with himself. And not at all like he's about to tell Rodney to leave and never come back.

Rodney lets out a ragged breath, sucking in air desperately and trying to push back the dizziness. He hadn't meant to hold his breath, hadn't really realized he'd been panicking. Now his heart is banging up against his ribs and he braces his hands on his knees, John saying, "Oh, shit, Rodney, Rodney, talk to me, buddy," and rubbing his back.

Somewhere above his head, Mr. Sheppard is saying, "Fuck, I'm so sorry, it's my fault. I knew I shouldn't have—"

His wife is interrupting with, "Regan, it's not—John, let me take his—"

And John snaps, "I got him," and then, softer, against Rodney's hair, "You hear me? I got you, you're fine, sh," Which makes Rodney realize that he's making tight little strangled sounds, he slaps a hand over his mouth, tucking his face against John's shoulder. It's easy to just squeeze his eyes shut, let John wrap around him, and wait for the nausea to pass. The crowd noise comes back in slowly, people leaving as the final pop-up fly ends with out number three.

John is still rubbing his shoulders, and Rodney makes himself shift back, his face hot with embarrassment. He's so tired of making a fool of himself out in public, and he hates that he makes John so worried. John, who is pushing Rodney's hair back, smiling at him comfortingly and saying, "See? You're just fine. Nothing bad is going to happen to you while I'm here, okay?"

And then John's mother is kneeling in front of them, reaching out to take Rodney's pulse, her expression concerned when she asks, "Does this happen frequently? The panic attacks?" And when Rodney's expression goes to guilt, she makes a tiny, hurt, sound, "Why didn't you say anything? Either of you?"

Rodney feels John's arm tighten around his shoulder, can see John's chin going up out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn't think he'd ever forgive himself for starting a fight between John and his parents. Rodney blurts, wanting to hide his face again, "Please, don't make me leave. They're not—they're getting better. They are. And they're not dangerous. I'm not going to hurt John. I wouldn't. I," he chokes, "I couldn't."

For a long moment everyone just stares at him, the bleachers empty all around them. He fights down a fresh surge of fear, trying to keep his breathing from going choppy and shallow again, not quite managing. His voice is tight and thin, "Please, I'll be better, I'll—"

John grabs him, a hand on either side of Rodney's face, and his expression is a kind of intense Rodney hasn't seen on him before. John says, voice low and rough, "I'm never losing you again. Not ever, Rodney. Not ever. Not for anything. Not for anyone."

"Promise?" And Rodney hates how small his voice sounds, but there's not enough air in his chest to make it any louder.

John brushes his thumb across Rodney's cheek, voice gentler now, "I swear." Rodney squeezes his eyes closed, leaning into John's touch, feeling his heart finally slow down, feeling his whole body sag. He feels exhausted, scraped raw inside.

And then John's mother is saying, "Oh, God, baby," and hugging both he and John. Rodney keeps his eyes closed, letting John pull him closer, hiding in the face of the affection and John's father's big hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. John's mother is saying, her voice saturated with emotion, "Sweetie, don't you know? You're our boy, we're never going to send you away."

* * *

It's not until they're driving home, Rodney curled up in the backseat against John, losing himself in the slow stroke of John's hand up and down his side, that Rodney remembers there was a start to the entire debacle. He frowns, clearing his throat, and his voice is still hoarse when he asks, "Why did you want to know about the kids under the mountain?"

In the front seat, John's parents exchange a look, and then John's father takes a deep breath, and asks, "You remember Helms' campsite out by the lake?"

* * *

After John's father gets done explaining, after everyone goes to their rooms, John frowns and says, "You want to check it out tonight?" For a long moment Rodney just stares at him, and John flushes, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, "You do want to check it out, right?"

Rodney nods, "Yeah. I just," he waves one of his hands, not sure how to say that he's just surprised John wants to be a part of it. He settles for smiling, reaching out and squeezing John's wrist, trying to put all the gratitude he feels into his voice, "Thank you. I'll let Teyla know we're coming." And John nods, ushering Rodney out of their room.

The Charger makes a lot of noise when it runs. Luckily, John is perfectly capable of pushing it along for as long as they want in neutral before they start the engine. John pushes them two blocks away from the house before climbing in, not even breathing hard when he grins down at Rodney and slides the car into gear.

Rodney waits until they have Teyla, and Ronon, in the backseat to twist around and tell them, "There's been another attack."

* * *

The Schlotterbecks had, according to John's father, been farmers in the area for the better part of the last century. They'd built the farmhouse, they'd cleared the land, and they'd proceeded to settle in and raise everything from kids, to barns, to cows, to corn.

George Schlotterbeck had taken over for his father when the older man moved down to the Keys to enjoy the hurricanes. He'd brought a pretty wife he'd met at college. They'd had four kids, a bunch of dogs, tons of cows, and had been, to the best of anyone's knowledge, still managing to be fairly successful, which was a small miracle all on its own.

John parks the car out on the road, beside the driveway.

When Ronon steps out of the car, closing his eyes and breathing deep, he rumbles, "Lotta people died here." And then he bends at the waist, making a dry, hacking, sound from deep in his gut and declaring, "Smells wrong here, too. Like in the woods."

Rodney nods, reaching out to take John's hand. He asks, after a moment, into the heavy silence, "Do you need to wait here?" Ronon shakes his head, motioning them forward. The gravel seems unnaturally loud under their feet when they walk down the tree lined drive. Ronon leads, head held high, hands held a little away from his body, fingers spread.

Closer to the house there's a lot of police tape, but they've already finished with the scene. They pause by an overturned pickup truck, a sticker for the volunteer fire department on the back, staring at the front yard, bathed as it is in moonlight. There's a swing set off to one side, torn apart. The dog kennels further away from the house are similarly destroyed.

John breathes, "Jesus," and Rodney nods, squeezing his hand and pressing closer to John's side.

George Schlotterbeck had killed two of his children, and three of his dogs. That hardly seems news worthy anymore. But he'd done it with his bare hands, just tearing them to pieces, on his way to his other two kids when his wife had managed to get one of the family's shotguns to blow off his head.

Teyla asks, in almost a whisper, "Your father believes that it is a gifted child causing this?"

Rodney feels John shrug, the other boy's voice flat and distant, "I don't think he knows what to believe." He pulls Rodney closer, and they walk slowly amongst the carnage. Rodney isn't sure exactly what he's looking for. A giant sign proclaiming: The Genii Were Here, maybe. But it's just destruction, wanton and random, and he can make no patterns out of any of it.

Teyla kneels down across the lawn, poking at something in the dirt and then shouting, jerking back. Ronon reaches her first, lifting her and moving her back, John and Rodney a step behind him. She's staring at the ground, breathing fast when she says, "It moved! I thought—I believed it to be a toy, but it moved."

Rodney blinks at her, and starts to bend down. John grabs him, pushing him back a step before crouching down, feeling around on the ground where Teyla had been. After a moment he frowns, standing, something crooked and roughly the size of his forearm in his hand. Rodney blurts, "What the hell is it?"

John shrugs, "I think it's some kind of plastic bug-leg thing," he pokes it with one finger, and it jerks. Rodney shouts, and the rest of them jump. John squishes it, closing his hand around it and then groaning, "Oh, gross," as some kind of goo runs down over his hand. He drops the thing to the ground, wiping his hand on the grass, still frowning.

And that's when Ronon says, staring hard at the crushed thing, "That's the smell." He turns, spitting on the ground, "It's not natural."

For a moment no one says a word, and then John heaves a sigh, "This is just getting really fucking weird." Rodney laughs involuntarily, raising one hand and trying to keep it quiet, but Teyla is already joining in, and Ronon even cracks a smile.

Rodney pokes John in the side, "You can take care of telling your father how it's actually the evil plastic bugs killing cops and firemen, and not a gifted kid, okay?" And John makes a face, placing his clean hand on Rodney's back and guiding him back towards the car.

John says, when they're all back in the car, "Does anyone else feel kind of like Nancy Drew?" And Rodney is laughing too hard to point out that there are too many of them to be Nancy's trinity of sleuths. He wonders if that makes him Ned, and gets the giggles again, trying to imagine Ronon as George and Teyla as Bess.

* * *

##### Part Three

The phone ringing wakes Rodney up the next morning. He starts to shift up, and manages to get his head off of John's shoulder before someone else answers. John mumbles something in his sleep, making a face and Rodney rolls his eyes, settling back against him.

He's not tired anymore, but he likes watching John sleep. Rodney carefully stretches his fingers out, his palm pressed over John's heart in their sleep. John hums, mumbles something that might be Rodney's name and reaches up, covering Rodney's hand with his and then stilling again.

Rodney is still frozen, heart beating hard, when John's mother knocks on their door and says, "Elizabeth Weir wants to speak with you," as she opens the door. For a moment she just blinks at them, and Rodney makes an attempt to untangle himself from her son, but John holds on.

Then she smiles, huge and bright, and walks across to hand Rodney the phone. She says, "He gets this from his father," pushing John's head to the side. John tightens his grip on Rodney's hand, but other than that doesn't stir, and she rolls her eyes before walking out of the room, grinning again when she pulls the door shut.

For a moment Rodney forgets completely about the phone, but Elizabeth's faint voice reminds him. He squirms around, poking John in the stomach in an attempt to wake him, greeting her finally. Rodney isn't expecting her to say, without any preamble at all, "Ronon told me what happened last night. We've got to check out the bodies."

* * *

Twelve hours later, Rodney has admitted that checking out the bodies is probably a good idea, and is irritated that Elizabeth thought of it first. Ronon is looking insufferably smug again, sitting in the back seat of the Charger with one arm wrapped around Elizabeth's shoulders.

John twists around, shutting the engine off, asking, "You're sure this is where they are?"

Elizabeth nods, opening the door and sliding out into the night. She's whispering when she replies, "Yes. Believe me, it's all my parents have been talking about lately," her smile looks just a little stiff, and she shoots Rodney a guilty look at the mention of her parents. He looks down, biting his lip until the stiff wash of anger passes.

Rodney says, still looking down at the seat, "I still think me and John should come with you." Because he understands why she needs to go, her father's security card is going to get them in, after all. And Ronon is the only one that knows what the bug-thing smells like. And Rodney understands that having more people along would just increase their odds of getting caught.

He wants to go anyway. He's not used to sitting on the sidelines while other people run around figuring things out. Ronon slides out of the car, patting the hood and not even responding to Rodney's protest. Rodney figures that's probably because they've been over it close to a hundred times.

John squeezes Rodney's knee, and when Rodney looks up, the other boy smiles encouragingly. Teyla shifts in the backseat, hooking her elbows over the front seat and cradling John's cellphone against her shoulder. She says, whispering, "You are clear, the night guard has retuned to his television."

And then they all fall silent, holding their breath, waiting. Teyla keeps the line open, sitting with her eyes closed and a little furrow of concentration on her forehead. Rodney bounces his leg, sure that at any moment something is going to go horribly wrong, and John starts rubbing little circles on Rodney's knee with his thumb, his fingers squeezing reassuringly.

Rodney flashes the other boy a tight smile, and John nods, before turning to stare out the window. The night is inky-black, nothing visible beyond the streetlights and the bugs attempting suicide beneath them. Rodney bites at his bottom lip, watching the hands on his watch crawl around, and nearly jumps out of his skin when Teyla whispers, "They are returning now."

It's been ten minutes. It felt like years.

Teyla scrambles across the seat to open the door, and Elizabeth scrambles in a second later, followed by Ronon. They're both out of breath, and Elizabeth is clutching a camera in her hands. John starts the car without anyone saying a word, and they leave without laying down rubber or spinning their wheels, because the point is to not get caught.

Rodney waits until John parks again, a few blocks away, and then twists around expectantly, "So they were dead, right?"

Elizabeth presses the camera into his hands, mouth thin and tight. It's Ronon that answers, "Very dead. And so was that thing," he points at the camera, and Rodney blinks, staring down at the screen. For a moment it doesn't make any sense, and he tilts the camera to the side.

"Rodney?" John leans over, and Rodney twists the screen towards the other boy, frowning. John makes a face, fingers brushing over Rodney's, "What the hell is that thing? Besides fuck-ugly." In the backseat, Elizabeth makes a soft, laughing sound.

Ronon says, "Don't know. But it has the smell. And it's missing a leg."

Rodney stares down at the screen, the bug-thing laid out on a metal tray, its long, segmented limbs stretched out. The thing's fleshy, pink underbelly is just visible under the hard blue chitin exterior. It has a long tail, stretched out behind it, and its front-end is covered with what Rodney has a sinking feeling is dried blood.

He finally looks up, swallowing heavily before speaking, "Interesting that this wasn't mentioned on the news." He exchanges a worried look with John.

Elizabeth sighs, leaning forward, her voice worried and tight, "That's not all that's interesting. Look at the next photo," and when Rodney does, she continues in a softer voice, "He was the only one...like that." Rodney stares down at the picture of the man. He assumes the body used to be Mr. Schlotterbeck. Besides the fact that half his neck is missing, the way his entire right ear is a bloody mess seems worrisome.

John clears his throat, "I have mentioned that I hate bugs, right?"

Rodney looks up, reaching out to squeeze John's hand. He says, "I'm pretty sure you're the only one that doesn't have anything to worry about from these things." John nods after a moment, but he's still staring down at the screen, his expression far away.

* * *

The next day they end up spending hours trying to identify the bug-thing. John deals with explaining, in broad, non-specific terms, what they found to his parents. Elizabeth and Ronon even drive upstate to the college she'll be attending rather soon, trying to get some help from the zoology department there. Rodney sticks to the internet. He's better with that.

The troublesome thing is, of course, that there's nothing like the bug anywhere. In desperation Rodney even checks out all the crypto-zoology links he can find. They are, amazingly, completely unhelpful. No one, at least no one willing to talk about it, has ever seen anything like what they're looking for.

John leans over his shoulder, warmth radiating down against Rodney's skin and taking the edge off of the headache that Rodney can feel behind his eyes. Rodney takes a deep breath, leaning just a little back into John, barely hearing it when John speaks, "What are the odds of us discovering a new species?"

Rodney rubs a hand up over his face, "A new species that attacks people?" He shrugs, "Not very high, not here, anyway." They're in the middle of the suburbs. It's not exactly where people go when they're looking to discover new and exotic things.

For a moment they're silent, John bracing a hand on Rodney's shoulder and watching him type. The most frustrating thing is that there's nothing that even remotely resembles the creature around. It's like an oversize spider-mosquito-leech thing, except for how it isn't.

When John pulls the chair away from the computer, Rodney startles, turning to blink up at him. John is smiling, but his eyes are serious when he says, "Come on, we've chased enough wild geese for today. Let's get some sleep."

Rodney frowns, because as tempting as it is, as tired as he is, this is irritating him like a toothache. He crosses his arms, "I'll be up in a while. I just want to check—"

"Rodney," John sounds affectionately exasperated, bending over Rodney and resting his hands on Rodney's shoulders. "Come to bed, okay? You need to sleep," and for a moment all Rodney can do is stare at him, his stomach doing odd, twisting things as John's thumb rubs across his collarbone.

Rodney swallows heavily, his voice coming out as a whisper, "Okay. Okay, sure." He's fairly certain he meant to put up more of a fight than that. Then it doesn't matter, because John is smiling at him, pulling Rodney to his feet and holding his hand all the way up the stairs.

Of course, none of that makes it easy to sleep. Rodney closes his eyes, head on John's shoulder, and feels pretty much the opposite of tired. Each time John breathes they shift, and his warmth is just sinking into Rodney's skin. Rodney does not hold out much hope for being able to get any rest.

"Hey, Rodney?" John's voice isn't exactly a surprise. Rodney can tell when he's sleeping, and the other boy's breathing had been all wrong. Rodney hums in answer, wrapping his arm around John's chest even though he knows he probably shouldn't. "Whatever it is, we're going to figure it out, okay? It's just a bug."

Rodney nods, feeling John's fingers brushing up and down his side, absent comfort that Rodney wants to push up into so badly it hurts. His voice comes out rough and ragged, so he's certain John will notice something is wrong, "An evil, potentially people-eating bug," and he bites his bottom lip, wanting all the things he can't have, and feels John shift his head.

John says, "Still just a bug, it's totally squishable. I should know, right?" soft and comforting. If Rodney concentrates really hard, he can just about pretend he can feel John's breath stirring his hair. By the time he falls asleep, he's almost managed to convince himself that John must have his lips pressed up against the top of Rodney's head. Which is stupid, he knows. He likes the thought anyway.

* * *

A week later, they're no closer to finding the answer. The only good news that Rodney can see in the whole situation is that at least no one else has been killed. Though, for all they know, the attacks have just shifted to another area. It's frustrating, and it's starting to piss him off. They're being outsmarted by bugs.

Rodney throws his stress into putting the finishing touches in the Charger, enlisting John and Ronon's assistance to wrestle the real, actual seats into place, tired of getting poked by pointy springs. The new stereo and speakers he puts in himself, using his gift to meld them seamlessly into place.

He's leaning over the hood, his fingers fanned out against the cool metal, checking all the systems carefully, when John's mother leans her hip against the passenger door. Rodney blinks slowly, for a long moment his brain still thinking in gears and pistons. She waits, head tilted to the side as she watches him, and he finally shakes himself, nodding at her.

John had gone inside to get them something to drink, and Rodney looks hopefully towards the door to the house. He likes John's mother, he always has, but he can't help but being embarrassed around her. He hadn't meant to freak out where she could see. He hadn't wanted her or her husband to see how messed up he was.

She says, softly, "You did a good job with this," smoothing one hand across the hood. There's the shine of sincere appreciation in her eyes, and Rodney shifts his weight from foot to foot, flushing at the praise. Of all the things he's built, the Charger is one of his favorites.

He shrugs, sticking his hands into his pockets, "John helped a lot," and she turns to smile at him, her eyes crinkling up in the corners.

After a moment she says, "I'm sure he did," and there's only a hint of teasing in her voice. And then she sobers, still running her hand over the car when she continues, "Rodney. I know that I'm not—" she cuts herself off with a sigh, and starts over, "I hope you know how much Regan and I care about you. You're like a son to us, and we just want you to be happy. We want you and John both to be happy. Very much."

Rodney stares at her, and then drops his gaze to the floor, rubbing the toe of his shoe over an oil stain on the concrete. He blurts, "I'm happy. I'm—a lot. And I think John is. John's happy, isn't he?" He makes himself look up, searching her expression.

She nods, quickly, and Rodney exhales heavily, reaching up to rub at his neck. For a half-second he'd been sure he'd missed something, overlooked something important. She steps towards him carefully, taking his hands and squeezing them, sitting down on the edge of the hood and looking up at him. For a moment she just stares up into his face and Rodney shifts, not sure what she's looking for.

Her voice is very soft when she speaks, "I have never seen John as happy as when he's with you," Rodney tries to pull his hands away and she squeezes his wrists, going on intently, "Rodney, it's okay. Hey, look at me for just a second." And it's only then that Rodney realizes he'd been staring intently at the wall. He swallows and looks back at her, still tugging against her grip.

She releases one of his hands, reaching up and tucking some of his hair behind his ear. Her expression is soft and gentle, and Rodney wants to look away again. He makes himself resist the urge. She says, "I don't know what your parents told you about love—" she makes a face again, exhales heavily, "Look, I just want you to know, if you need to talk to me about anything, ask me about anything, ever, I'm right here. Okay?"

Rodney just nods. He's not entirely sure what she's getting at, but she seems very serious about it.

For a long moment she just stares at him, and then she smiles, tugging on some of his hair again and leaning back. She says, trailing her fingertips up the line of the hood, "Are you boys planning on going to the fair this weekend?" and Rodney nods, because Teyla's been talking about it for weeks.

Rodney neglects to mention that they're breaking Carson out again.

And that's when John throws the door open, looking a little wild around the eyes when he hurries out. He takes one look at his mother, cutting his gaze quickly to Rodney, and blurts, "What did you say to him?" He looks like he's not sure if he should be upset or not. Rodney frowns, going to him and wrapping an arm around his waist.

John's mother blinks, and then shakes her head, "Nothing, John. We were just talking about the car." For a moment John just stares at her, and then he nods, exhaling raggedly and squeezing Rodney. Rodney looks between them, waiting for some explanation.

Apparently, he's not going to get one, because then John is saying, "Hey, we should go for a drive. Do you want to go for a drive? Test out the new speakers?" Before Rodney can so much as nod agreement, John is pulling the passenger side door open for him, and doing an odd little hop-skip around to the driver's side.

Rodney decides not to ask.

* * *

Breaking Carson out is easier this time. Rodney is slightly confused why Carson's parents aren't more concerned about the rapidly deteriorating health Carson is using as his excuse, but it's working in their favor, so he doesn't worry too much about it.

Carson and Teyla drive their own car to the fair, but everyone else piles in the Charger after picking Carson up. The fair is across town, and Rodney twists around on the seat, explaining the new seats and the radio to Ronon and Elizabeth as John drives.

They're maybe halfway there when someone pulls up alongside them and stays there. It takes Rodney a moment to notice, and then he frowns, looking across at the other vehicle. John says, without Rodney saying a word, "I think they want to race," frowning and tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

Rodney blinks, asking, "Really?" leaning further forward so that he can see the other car better. It's a little Honda with a huge spoiler, set low to the ground. He cocks his head to the side, ignoring the other driver and the passengers to put his focus on the engine.

It only takes Rodney a moment to wrap his mind around it, and then he grins, shifting his focus to John. He says, "We can take them." He's aware he might be cheating, but the other car is still matching them for speed, the driver thumping his hand on the steering wheel and motioning impatiently. They're asking for it.

John turns to gape at him, "Are you serious?"

Rodney blinks, tilting his head to the side, "Well, if you don't want to, we don't have to. I was just saying that we could." For another long moment John just stares, and Rodney guides the car through a turn, waiting.

And then John is grinning at him, demanding, "Put on your seatbelt," and Elizabeth laughs delightedly in the backseat. Rodney bounces once, smiling, thrilled that he put that expression on John's face. Around the next turn is a straightaway, and Rodney can feel the other car's engine revving up. He reaches out and grabs John's thigh, sucking in a breath.

They've never really taken the Charger over seventy. They'd never had any reason to, and Rodney is aware that the few times John's almost taken it higher he's caught himself and brought it back down. Now the engine roars, John shifting gears, the tires flying over the road.

The other car keeps up with them for maybe an eighth of a mile, and then they're just gone. Rodney throws his head back, laughing, and John grabs him when they slow down, coming up on other traffic. John wraps a hand around the back of Rodney's neck, squeezing, and for a half second they just stare at each other, grinning like maniacs.

Elizabeth says, "You're insane! Both of you!" but she's laughing. Rodney blinks, feeling his cheeks go red when John clears his throat and drops his hand down. The other car catches up to them once they get back into the stop and go of the lights, but the driver hangs back.

Rodney grins, dropping his head down on John's shoulder.

* * *

They end up having to wait for Teyla and Carson nearly fifteen minutes outside the gates of the fair, but Rodney doesn't really mind. John is almost giddily happy, pulling Rodney back against him when they lean against the car, arms wrapped around Rodney, rocking them side to side.

Elizabeth is asking Ronon, when Teyla and Carson finally walk up, "So, you're going to win me a giant teddy bear, right?"

Ronon looks deathly serious all of a sudden, the way he gets sometimes, "You want one?" And when Elizabeth nods, smiling and leaning against him, "Yes, where are they?" Elizabeth laughs, taking his hand and dragging him off towards the ticket stand.

Rodney rolls his eyes at them, leaning his head back against John's shoulder, doing what he's sure is a piss-poor imitation of Elizabeth's voice, "And what about you? Do I get a giant teddy bear, too?" He makes an attempt at fluttering his eyelashes.

John raises his eyebrows, like he's thinking about it. He sounds oddly serious himself when he leans in to say against Rodney's ear, "I meant it when I said you could have whatever you wanted from me." Rodney shivers, even though it's not really cool at all yet, feeling his breath catch somewhere in the back of his throat.

"John..." his voice comes out softer than anticipated, and John hums, so close Rodney can feel the other boy's breath against his neck.

For a half second Rodney can't move, and then he opens his mouth, his mind curiously blank. Before he can get a word out, Elizabeth is calling from the ticket line, "Come on! We can't just hold up the line for you two!" And Rodney suddenly really, really, wants to hit her. He shakes himself.

"Right, coming!"

* * *

Ronon is bound and determined the secure the biggest stuffed animal in the whole damn fair for Elizabeth, which means that they spend the first hour wandering around, doing size checks from stall to stall. They finally end up in front of some kind of rope-ladder construct that Rodney thinks looks incredibly unsafe.

Apparently Ronon disagrees. They all stand around in front of it for awhile, Ronon watching the other people that attempt it intently. Rodney does his best to ignore the fact that Teyla and Carson are pretty much ignoring everything and everyone else. It's hard when he can feel the undercurrent of her emotions right below his surface thoughts. When John grabs Rodney's elbow, squeezing softly, Rodney moans, shivering and trying to push down the swell of need and want.

"Hey, you okay?" John sounds concerned, reaching out and tilting Rodney's chin up. Rodney manages a nod after a moment, even though he's not sure he is. He hasn't been this close to Teyla before when she was...like this. It's dizzying. John is frowning when he continues, "Are you sure? You look, uh, kind of flushed."

Rodney nods again, swallowing hard when John just frowns some more, sliding his hand over the curve of Rodney's cheek. Rodney leans into the touch automatically, sparks going off behind his eyes, gasping softly and grabbing John's arm for balance. John says, "Hey, whoa—" grabbing for him.

And that's when Elizabeth starts cheering, and Teyla comes up for air long enough for Rodney to steady himself a little. He shakes his head, watching Ronon triumphantly ring the bell at the top of the ladder, before climbing back down again instead of just falling to the mats below.

The owner of the game is gaping at Ronon, and for a half-second Rodney thinks the man might accuse Ronon of cheating. Apparently, the guy realizes that probably wouldn't be the best idea, and swallows heavily instead. In any case, Elizabeth ends up with a giant, fluorescent yellow, unicorn that's bigger than she is.

A half second later Elizabeth is pulling Ronon down, kissing him full-on with tongue and everything right there on the midway. Rodney looks away, because that's really about the last thing he needs to see. He's having enough trouble dealing with the constant stream of sexsexsex from Teyla's thoughts.

In desperation, Rodney grabs John's arm, and blurts, "Where next?"

Which is probably how Rodney ends up agreeing to go on highly unsafe rides. He even manages to convince himself, right up to the front of the line for something called the Zipper, that he'll be fine. He's done a lot of things since last time he rode one of these things. He's sure it's better now.

* * *

John demands, "Why didn't you tell me you didn't like them?" looking worried and upset, kneeling down beside Rodney and wrapping him up in a hug. Rodney buries his face against John's neck, swallowing down air, waiting for his stomach to settle, balling his hands into fists because they're shaking.

This is unbelievably stupid, and he grits his teeth. After everything that's been done to him, after everything that he's been through, he hates that this still gets to him. There are eight-year-olds on the stupid ride. Laughing.

John makes a tight sound, rubbing a hand up and down Rodney's back, "Oh, god, I'm so sorry. I should have thought—Are you okay? Do you want to go home?" He sounds guilty, and Rodney tries to explain that it's not John's fault, that his brain is just ridiculous sometimes, but can't quite manage it yet. He shakes his head instead. "Teyla, is he—he's not talking to me," there's an edge of panic to the words.

There are small hands on Rodney's forehead, and he squirms away, turning closer to John. Teyla strokes her fingers down the line of Rodney's neck, her voice soft, gentle, "He is—it is complicated. But he will be alright." Rodney nods, because he's fine. Just a little overwhelmed, and stupidly terrified of something that should in no way scare him.

"Oh, thank God," John makes a little laughing sound, squeezing Rodney tighter, "You should have told me, Rodney. I wouldn't—you should have told me."

Rodney shrugs, his heart rate finally coming down. He says, into the dark, safe space against John's neck, "It's okay. I'm okay. I didn't want you to have to ride alone." And that, at least, is the truth. John had wanted to get in the deathtrap, and there was no way Rodney was letting him go alone.

John makes the little laughing noise again, saying, "Go on ahead, you guys. We'll catch up, okay?" Rodney means to protest that he's fine, really, but it's easier to think with Teyla a little further away. He relaxes against John, trying to breathe slow and deep.

When Rodney feels steady enough, he shifts, John only releasing him slowly. John still looks tense and worried, his eyes dark and his mouth pressed thin. Rodney winces. He really hadn't intended that, and he clears his throat, waving a hand absently when he says, "So. Um. I think that's better, then. Do you—what else did you want to get on?"

For a long moment John just stares at him, expression slipping to disbelief. And then he's shaking his head vehemently, saying, "No, no, we're not riding anything else. I don't like them that much anyway, actually."

Rodney flinches, looking down at his hands, biting his bottom lip, "We can. I don't—I'm just being a baby about it and you want to and—"

John catches Rodney's hands, which he'd been waving around, trying to shape the words in the air. His voice is soft, low, "Rodney, there are other things I want a lot more than being on a stupid ride, okay?" John squeezes gently, rubbing his thumbs over Rodney's wrists.

"Okay," Rodney nods jerkily, blinking across at John. Some of the strain has drained out of the other boy's features, and he's smiling softly. Rodney manages a tight smile back after a minute, and then takes a deep breath, and blurts, "You know, I can ride the Ferris Wheel. For some reason it doesn't bother me at all." That gets him a huge grin from John, and Rodney feels some of the pressure in his chest ease.

* * *

So, the Ferris Wheel does actually bother Rodney a little bit, but it's nothing even close to as bad as the other rides. It's just a soft itch in his center of his chest, and a constant rush of adrenaline trying to tell his body that it needs to flee.

But he can deal with it, especially when John is there, smiling with his head tilted back, staring up at the sky. Rodney presses closer to the other boy, concentrating on the weight of John's arm around his waist, the beat of John's heart under his ear. It takes a lot of effort to ignore all the creaks and groans and stress points he can feel on the ride, but it's worth it anyway.

Their car stops at the top of the wheel, swinging just a little back and forth, and Rodney twists his fingers up in John's shirt. John says, "You didn't have to do this," soft and thick. Rodney lifts his head just enough to blink at the other boy, who is watching him with dark, gentle eyes.

Rodney shrugs, "It's not a big deal." Before he can put his head back against John's shoulder, where he doesn't have to see how far away the ground is, John catches his chin. For a long moment they just stare at each other, John's expression deep and serious.

John says, "I think it is," and leans forward.

Rodney's eyes go wide, and he's sure, positive, one hundred percent, that John is going to kiss him. The ride lurches, and John's lips land on his cheek, dry and brief before they both shift back. John's cheeks are red, and Rodney can feel his own doing the same thing.

He takes the coward's path, and buries his face against John's neck, his heart beating double time for the rest of the ride, until the conductor opens their little door and ushers them out. They end up standing right outside the exit, John with his hands in his pockets, still blushing bright red.

Rodney shifts his weight, looks at John, looks back at the ride, and tilts his chin up. He takes a bracing breath and says, before he can convince himself not to, "I think we should ride again. I liked—the top. I liked it when we were at the top. I think we should go back there again."

John looks up at him, eyes wide and surprised. For a brief, horrifying moment, Rodney is sure that John is going to laugh at him and walk away. Instead, John grabs his wrist, dragging him back towards the front of the line, expression intense and almost a little frightening.

They're almost there when Elizabeth and Ronon run up, breathing a little heavy with exertion, Elizabeth saying, "We've been looking for you two all over the place. Guess what Teyla and Carson found?"

* * *

Teyla and Carson, it turns out, found a fortune teller. Elizabeth and Ronon are intent on dragging them to see it, even after Rodney points out that he has a sister that pretty much does the same thing and that he and John really, really need to ride the Ferris Wheel again.

John is silent, frowning and continually looking over his shoulder, and Rodney wants to say that they don't really need the Ferris Wheel, that he'd be perfectly fine pretending that right here was the top of the ride, but he doesn't know how to get the words through his throat. He ends up saying almost nothing, dragged along to see some fraud, frustrated out of his mind.

They reach the little tent just as Carson is stepping out, looking a little confused and off balance. Teyla steps up to the boy immediately, grabbing his hands and asking what the man told him. She has smears of glitter across the back of her hands, and Rodney rolls his eyes.

Rodney is seriously considering kicking the asses of all of his friends, when Carson shakes himself and says, stumbling over the words just a little, "He didn't say all that much really. I probably shouldn't—" Teyla nudges him pointedly in the ribs and Carson sighs.

For a long moment, Carson just stares at the ground, and then he looks up, rubbing a hand back over his head, "I'm sure it's the same thing he tells everyone, really." Teyla elbows him again, he makes a face at her before continuing, gesturing dramatically, "If you must know, he said that I'm destined to be a great hero, braver than everyone I know, and that I'll be getting my name in the paper, and a great big party back home." His expression does something funny at the end, but before Rodney can figure out what the expression is, it's been wiped away.

John says, "Sounds pretty specific to me," his tone a little flat and dry. "Are we done now? Because me and Rodney have to go back and—"

Elizabeth interrupts, "Oh, no, it's your turn next, come on." She points expectantly at the tent, raising her eyebrows and Rodney frowns at her.

Then he throws up his hands, "Fine, fine, sure." He turns to look at John, meeting the other boy's eyes and feeling a shiver down his spine, "Let's just get it over with fast, okay?" Something flashes across John's expression, and Rodney licks his lips, feeling something tighten up in his stomach when John grabs his hand and drags him towards the tent flap.

Elizabeth calls, "Wait, you're supposed to go in one—" but they ignore her, ducking in together. Inside it's dimly lit, and smells like nothing so much as mud. There's a rug on the ground, dirty and worn. Rodney shoots John a skeptical look, and John catches his chin, suddenly closer, and oh—

"There are rules in place for a reason," the voice is low and hoarse. Rodney startles. On the other side of the rug, sitting with his legs folded, is an older man, his face all in shadows, big hands resting on his knees. John pushes Rodney a step back, edging in front of him, and the man gives a wheezing laugh, "And there are those you cannot protect him from, boy."

John growls, "Fuck you, just watch me," his shoulders squaring up.

The old man wheezes again, rocking himself side to side, tilting his face up to the light. His smile is wide and wrinkly, it crinkles his entire face up. Rodney feels something cold unfold in his chest, and grips at the back of John's shirt, trying to pull him back. He feels dizzy, suddenly, like the world is spinning under his feet, going topsy-turvy and wrong side up.

The man says, "Perhaps you are right, perhaps I am wrong. But you are children of different sides. You walk with the angels. He no longer does. One day you will have to choose whether or not your fall is worth having him. Blood for blood." Rodney shudders, the words ringing through his head, stirring up his equilibrium. He feels John twist. He feels John catch him and pull him close.

Rodney gasps, "Out of here, out of here, please," and John lifts him. He can feel the way John is trembling, knows that whatever this is isn't just touching him, and tries to fight against it. John is walking backwards, his knees dipping alarmingly with each step, groping one hand out for the exit. Rodney is sure this room was not this big before.

The old man's voice pounds away at his skull, "Orphan boy, gone to prepare the way for your parents, just like falling asleep," and then John is tumbling sideways. They land hard on the packed dirt outside, under the midway lights. Above them, somewhere, there are voices, concerned and worried.

Rodney twists, grabbing John's shoulders, words dragging like razors in his throat, "My parents!"

John grabs him, pulling him close, and it's only then that Rodney realizes he'd been thrashing, shaking, coming apart at the seams. John says, "Sh," into his hair, one arm around Rodney's back, the other reaching into Rodney's pocket, fumbling with the cellphone there. He demands, "What's their number? Rodney! What's their number?"

Rodney shakes his head, taking the phone away from John, curling over it, his hands shaking as he punches in the long stream that will dial his parent's house. He feels nauseous, barely breathing, listening to the ringing, ringing, ringing.

"Oh God, oh my God, I'll kill him, Rodney, I'll—" John's voice, low and panicked, John's arms around him, holding him tight as the phone rings and rings and rings. Rodney chokes on a scream, because no, his parents are immortal they're invincible, they always have been. They've been heroes since they were kids, tough as nails. They've taken all comers. They're warriors. They're too stubborn, too smart, and far too good at what they do to die.

The phone rings again, and halfway through there's a fuzz of static, and then, like a miracle, a sleepy voice saying, "Hello? Who is this?"

It's his mother's voice. Rodney drops the phone, vaguely hearing her speaking, sounding more and more irritated by the second, "Hello? Is there anyone there? No, Richard, it's just some—" the line goes dead. Rodney curls over, presses his hands over his face and rocks himself. John curls up around him, and, distantly, Rodney can even hear him yelling. He can't make out the words.

Rodney jerks his head up, scrambling to his feet, batting at John's hands when John tries to pull him back, blurting, "What if he meant you?"

For a half second John just stares, mouth open, expression breaking. And then John is twisting to the side, throwing up messily, while Rodney fumbles with the phone again, trying to remember if either of John's parents are working, pacing in a tight circle, shoving away the faceless people that try to reach for him.

John's father says, "Hello?" and Rodney laughs, feeling hysterical, falling back to his knees and grabbing John, pressing the phone into his hands and crawling into his lap. John holds him, rocking them both back and forth, having what Rodney's sure is an incredibly disjointed conversation with his father.

Somewhere above them, Elizabeth is demanding an explanation and Teyla is talking fast and jerky, but Rodney can't focus on it. He wraps his arms around John and holds on tight, John whispering into his hair, "They're okay, they're fine, they're okay," over and over again.

* * *

Neither of them are in any condition to drive, and no one else knows how to use a stick, so they wait for John's parents to come pick them up. By the time John's mother speeds into the parking lot, they're curled up on the hood of the Charger, holding onto each other tight.

John pulls Rodney along when he throws himself at his parents, and Rodney doesn't even try to squirm away. He grabs and hugs and holds and feels some of the panic in his bloodstream finally start to fade. John's father is saying, "We're fine, everything is fine, boys, it's okay." Rodney just shakes his head, clinging to John and everyone else, willing the rest of the fear away.

It takes a long time before they manage to make it home. And none of them make it to their rooms, falling into a pile on the couch and sleeping there, clinging tightly together. When Rodney finally manages to fall into distorted dreams, as gray light starts creeping through the windows, it is with John's arms wrapped around him, John's mother stroking his hair.

* * *

##### Part Four

John's parents go out to the fair the next morning, unheeding of John and Rodney's protests. By the time they pull out of the driveway, John already has the keys to the Charger, and Rodney meets him in the garage. They trail John's parents through the mostly empty fairgrounds, hands clasped together.

The fortune teller man, who looks smaller under the light of day, meets John's parents outside his trailer wearing a threadbare bathrobe and bunny slippers. His hair is messy and he's cradling a cup of coffee, nodding along with whatever John's mother is saying while John and Rodney hide behind the side of a funhouse.

The man laughs at something John's mother says, shaking his head, stepping down and smiling. Rodney feels a chill climb his spine, and John says, "It's okay," squeezing his hand. Rodney nods jerkily, watching John's father quickly shake the other man's hand before they all go their separate ways.

When John's parents head straight for them, Rodney makes a face. Running probably wouldn't do much good, so they just wait, John smiling awkwardly when his father grabs his shoulder and shakes him while saying, "I guess I can't really claim to be surprised you followed us."

Rodney frowns, tugging absently on John's shirt until the other boy pulls him closer, offering as explanation, "We worry." John's parents exchange a look, and then shake their heads again, starting to walk back towards the parking lot. Rodney raises an eyebrow at John and John shrugs, falling into step behind them.

No one says another word until they're back by their vehicles, John's father leaning across the hood and saying, "Well, he's not gifted. And either he's a much better liar than I'm willing to give him credit for, or he really doesn't know what he told you last night. What time did you say you were there?"

For a moment Rodney just stares, and then he shakes himself, pulling out the cellphone and checking the times on the calls. He shrugs, "Almost eight," and ignores the sour knowledge that they must have been out past curfew last night.

John's mother exchanges another long look with her husband and then sighs, "According to him, he was in a drunken stupor by that point." She wrinkles her nose up, "And that I believe." She shrugs, bouncing the keys in her hand, her mouth going tight.

John exhales heavily, and says, "He was just drunk and crazy," soft and deliberate, like he testing out the explanation.

Rodney frowns, remembering the way the world had went twisty, and then looks up at John, worried and tense, upset, and says, "Yeah. Yeah, he must have been." John smiles, something small and tight. Rodney matches the expression after a beat, and tries to push the memories of the previous night away. It doesn't work as well as he'd hoped.

* * *

There are other things Rodney wants to talk to John about regarding that night. But every time he tries his tongue gets stuck to the roof of his mouth. There never seems to be a good time for it, not with Teyla so giddy about Carson's parents being gone for two weeks, with Elizabeth being worried about moving, with all of them waiting for another attack from the bugs.

At least the moving thing they can do something helpful about. And it's completely worth the use of a weekend just for the way Elizabeth's parents look when they all show up at her house. Rodney smirks at her parents when she leads the way to her room, waving jauntily, watching John scowl at them.

Teyla and Carson had pleaded other plans, and Rodney is expending a lot of effort to not sense what they're doing, but between the rest of them Rodney doubts it'll take very long to get everything moved to Elizabeth's new apartment upstate.

She already has everything in boxes, labeled and set neatly around her rooms. Her bed is disassembled, the mattresses leaning against the wall beside an impressively huge dresser. For a moment Rodney just stares, reminding himself to keep his mouth shut.

John cracks his knuckles, walking up to the dresser and sizing it up before grinning and flashing Elizabeth a thumbs up when he says, "We'll have it done in no time." He lifts the dresser, scowling when he looks for handholds, and accidentally taking out the top of her doorjamb when he steps through the door. Rodney grabs the nearest box, labeled shoes, though it feels more like bricks, and hurries after John.

Elizabeth has a huge rental truck parked out in front of her house. John shifts the dresser up higher once he's out of the house. Elizabeth's parents are still looking scandalized in the sitting room. Rodney nods at them again, pausing for just a second, because he'd been briefly sure that there was something odd going on with their entertainment station. He shakes himself when they just stare at him, walking through a flower bed on his way to the truck.

John grumbles, setting the dresser down and frowning down at the moving blankets for a moment before poking them with the toe of his shoe, "I hate those assholes." He makes a halfhearted effort to wrap up the corners of the dresser, and Rodney sets his box down, taking the blankets away from John and doing it himself.

"Hey, we're doing this for Elizabeth, remember? It's not her fault her parents are raging fucktards." Rodney doesn't really feel like admitting that he likes knowing John hates them, that there's a place inside his head where he's jumping up and down with glee over the show of solidarity.

John shrugs, pulling Rodney away from the dresser when it's mostly covered, "I hate them anyway." They pass Elizabeth and Ronon crossing the lawn, Elizabeth wrestling with a giant, awkward, lamp, Ronon carrying two boxes stacked on top of each other. Rodney is pretty sure that the boy is flexing his biceps, and rolls his eyes.

They end up getting her stuff all loaded up in under an hour, most of that time spent making the trip up and down the stairs over and over. They end up with the truck half-full, standing awkwardly beside it while Elizabeth has a tearful goodbye with her parents on the front porch.

Rodney turns away when it shows no signs of immediately ending, pulling himself up into the truck and flattening his hands on the dashboard. After a moment John crawls in after him, nudging him in the shoulder and asking, "Can you drive it?"

Rodney opens his eyes, tasting diesel on the back of his tongue, shaking his head just a little to clear it. He says, "Of course," because he's pretty sure he can drive anything he can touch with his gift. John nods, sitting in the driver's seat anyway, because it hadn't taken long to come to the realization that Rodney behind the wheel with his eyes closed tended to scare the hell out of their fellow motorists, and Rodney can handle the driving every bit as well from the passenger side.

Elizabeth pulls herself up, leaning against the door, her eyes a little wet. She clears her throat twice before speaking, "You guys ready? Just follow me, okay?" And Rodney nods, settling back in the seat, closing his eyes, reaching out.

He wonders what John's planning to do for the ride to keep himself occupied, but before he can ask he gets distracted by the movement of the engine. It takes him a moment to get a fix on Elizabeth's little hybrid, to make sure that he won't forget the way it feels amongst all the other traffic. And then they're set.

The truck rumbles and shakes its way along, magnifying every bump in the road. Rodney breathes deep, and allows himself to sink completely down into the flow of traffic, his mind stretching out, touching all of it.

When Elizabeth pulls to the side, what feels like a long time later, though he has no real grasp of time right now, Rodney starts to follow her. John grabs his arm, saying, "Shit, Rodney, she's being pulled over," John voice is a little garbled, hard to follow when Rodney is spread out so thin.

Rodney shakes his head, because he can feel the police cruiser, Elizabeth pulling off to the side. He knows he's probably not supposed to stop too, but he doesn't know where they're going, and he can't really ask right now. They pull off behind Elizabeth and the cop, and Rodney snaps himself back into his own head.

His hands are cold, and he rubs them together, reaching up to squeeze at his aching neck and shoulders. John says, "Damnit," reaching out to squeeze Rodney's knee, "He's, look, okay, it's okay, just pretend you're sleeping or something, okay?"

And that's about when the cop knocks on the side of John's door. Rodney can feel John tensing up. Rodney pinches at the bridge of his nose, feeling just a little nauseous. It's the first time he's driven that long, and the first time he's tried to follow someone else. His head is buzzing, and he's having some trouble remembering that he's just Rodney, not all those little pieces he'd been touching that are still speeding around.

The cop is saying something, John replying, sounding a little pissed off. That's not good. Rodney frowns, shaking his head hard, pushing his gift down, and feeling his mind settle a little bit. He says, "John?" and reaches for the other boy, squeezing his arm in what he hopes is a comforting way.

The cop frowns across at him, all reflective glasses and a sour expression. Rodney stares back, John bristling up even more. For a half second Rodney is sure John is going to hit the man, which is just bizarre, and then he jerks his head up, still partially connected to the surrounding traffic, shouting, "No!"

Everything goes to shit before Rodney even has a chance to stop it. Rodney grabs John's shoulder for stability, and throws himself into the twisting, crushing, press of the accident. He can't stop it, but he's fairly certain he can at least contain the damage.

There are too many vehicles involved, a tiny sedan running into the side of a jack-knifing semi, a truck going sideways, a billion moving parts, all trying to occupy the same space. Rodney pushes and shoves and rearranges and somehow it all grinds to a stop, all the pieces tangled together, fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

For a moment there's silence, and then the cop is yelling, jumping away from their truck, running for his cruiser and radio. Rodney sags, cutting himself off from the accident, vaguely aware that John is cradling him. His head hurts, a lot.

John is shushing him, and Rodney closes his eyes, ignoring the pounding in the back of his head and the burn up his arms and legs. It's not as bad as he was expecting. His nose isn't even bleeding. He mumbles against John's shirt, "I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm fine." And John laughs, not sounding amused.

The cop is pulling himself up again, his tone weird when he says, "I've never seen anything like that. He did that?" Rodney doesn't try to reply, John handles it for him. The cop makes a huffing sound, and then slaps the side of the truck, "You best get him out of here before anyone else gets here. Things are...tense, right now."

Rodney almost laughs at the understatement, but then John is pulling the door shut and saying, "Hey, this is just like the car, right? Just bigger. I can drive it," and Rodney just nods his head, tired and disoriented when John pulls them out into traffic behind Elizabeth. John does fine.

* * *

Rodney ends up sleeping through the rest of the drive, and most of the unloading phase.

When he wakes up, he's on Elizabeth's mattress in a dark room, blinking across at a wall of cardboard boxes. His mouth is dry and his head feels like it's about to split apart, but other than that he doesn't hurt too badly. There are phantom aches in his hands and feet, but nothing serious.

He pushes to his feet, yawning and rubbing at his face, padding across to the door and wondering where his shoes went. Outside of Elizabeth's bedroom it's brighter, and smells like pizza. He blinks, still a little disoriented, and John is just there, wrapping around him and saying, "Fuck, Rodney, you have to stop doing that."

Rodney hums noncommittally, feeling warm and sleepy still. It feels good to just let John hold him, and for a long moment they stand in the hallway. He mumbles against John's shirt, "I smell food," and John laughs, pulling him towards the kitchen.

There isn't furniture in there yet, but there is a counter. And it is covered with pizza boxes. Rodney cuts a look up at John, and John nods, handing him a paper plate. Elizabeth and Ronon are in the living room, sprawled out on the floor, Elizabeth looking up and saying, "There's beer in the fridge, too."

Rodney thinks about that for a moment, and then shrugs. He's pretty sure it might take the edge off the ache in his bones. A half second later John is pushing a bottle into Rodney's hands, and steering him towards the living room, loaded up with supplies.

He and John ease themselves down across from Ronon and Elizabeth, the sun just starting to sink outside. The drive had taken up most of the day, and Rodney eats his pizza while leaning back against John and watching the sunset outside of Elizabeth's huge bay windows.

Rodney swallows, and says, "I can hook your T.V. up for you."

Elizabeth blinks at him for a moment, and then shakes her head, "Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow," smiling at him softly. Rodney shrugs, taking a long drink of his beer, which goes surprisingly nicely with the greasy pizza, and rolling his eyes when it proceeds to overflow all over his fingers when he sets it down.

Rodney mumbles, around a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni, "So what'd I miss?"

* * *

Turns out, he didn't miss very much, except lugging boxes up three flights on stairs. As far as he's concerned, that's probably for the best. Though he is slightly bitter about not getting to see John lugging heavy things around. He likes doing that.

Rodney only realizes that he's probably had too many of the beers that kept getting pressed into his hands through the evening when he says that last thought aloud. He and John have both slid sideways at some point. Rodney thinks it was around when Elizabeth pulled Ronon to his feet and dragged him back towards her room while giggling and stealing kisses. He has his head on John's stomach, blinking up at the ceiling, fascinated by the way the traffic passing outside makes patterns with their headlights.

John shifts around, his hand not slowing the light strokes back through Rodney's hair when he asks, "You like doing what?"

Rodney shrugs, and manages to twist himself sideways, which means he's blinking at the underside of John's chin. He frowns, pushing up onto his elbows and then his hands, clumsily reaching for the beer he just upset and saying, distractedly, "Watching you. I like that a lot."

"Oh." John sounds surprised, but pleased, and he pulls at one of Rodney's arms, "That's good." Rodney smiles down at him, feeling John's thumb stroking across his skin. The near-dark of the room reminds Rodney of their bedroom, and he shifts around, moving slowly, because his equilibrium is totally fucked.

It doesn't matter when he finally manages to get himself arranged, sitting on John's stomach and beaming down at him, proud of himself for a reason he's forgotten. John says, "I like watching you too. I do it all the time," his hands are on Rodney's hips, his mouth curled up in a smile, his eyes dark and happy.

Rodney feels heat rise against his skin, a flood of warmth in his stomach. He leans forward, because he feels a little dizzy all of a sudden, bracing his hands on either side of John's head and blinking down at him. John makes a soft, hoarse, sound, his grip tightening on Rodney's hips.

For a long moment they just stare at each other, John's lips parted a little bit. Rodney swallows, and asks, because it's all he can think about suddenly, "At the fair. Were you going to kiss me on the ride?"

John's expression goes distant, just for a moment, his voice breathy and rough, "Yeah." One side of John's mouth is curled up into a smile, and he's moving his hands, just a little bit, up and down Rodney's thighs, always resettling on his hips.

Rodney can feel himself grinning like an idiot, reveling in the slow pulse of pleasure though his chest. He says, lowering himself down, elbows by John's head, chin resting on one hand, "Do you still want to?" All the warmth of John pressed against him is making it hard to think. Especially when John gasps a little, making a little whining sound in the back of his throat.

John nods, "Oh, yeah," and like he wants to prove it he turns his head to the side, pressing a kiss to the side of Rodney's arm. Rodney bites his bottom lip, his heart racing, He reaches out, tracing the curve of John's ear with one finger, feeling tingles up his arm and down his spine.

"Why?" Rodney's voice surprises him, because that isn't what he'd meant to say. But now that it's out there, he is curious. He blinks expectantly down at John, who holds his gaze, eyes dark and liquid and deep, expression going serious and intent.

John says, rubbing one hand up Rodney's back, "Cause I like you better."

Rodney frowns, trying to concentrate with the way John is rubbing his thumb back and forth right below Rodney's shoulder blade. It's not helping that he's so tired it's a struggle to keep his eyes open. Rodney pushes on anyway, tilting his head to the side, "Better than what?"

"Better than everything," John stares up at him, and Rodney has to remind himself to breathe. He has to duck his head down, tucking his face up against John's neck and hiding there, just for a while. John hums, rubbing his hand down Rodney's back again, pulling at the back of Rodney's shirt, and the press of their skin together makes Rodney shiver.

Rodney whispers, "Me too, me too for you." Rodney has to squeeze his eyes closed, his throat getting tight and weird. John shushes him, rubbing his palm up and down Rodney's spine. It's comforting, and it makes Rodney want to press back into it at the same time.

Right now, he can't remember why he shouldn't. He stretches up into the touch, and John makes a gasping sound, his other hand pushing under Rodney's shirt as well. Rodney wraps one arm around John's head, gripping at John's shoulder with his other hand, feeling too warm and too big to fit inside his skin.

John moans, and for a half second Rodney thinks maybe he weighs too much, maybe John's hurt. And then John is breathing against his hair, "Rodney," and pushing up against him. Nerves go crazy all over Rodney's body, and he twists his fingers in John's shirt.

And then Rodney's stomach does a weird twisting thing that feels nowhere near as good as the other weird twisting things had. Rodney pushes to the side, gagging, and John babbles something that Rodney can't really hear while Rodney pukes his guts out.

* * *

They end up sleeping in the bathtub. John comes up with the brilliant idea to turn the water on and just let it run over them somewhere around the third time Rodney throws up all over them. Rodney falls asleep to cold water beating down on his back, curled up against John, their clothes soaking wet, still feeling vaguely nauseous.

He wakes up to the lights coming on, sharp and blinding, and Elizabeth laughing at them. Rodney grumbles, turning his face away from the light, and John shifts with him, arms around him. The fact that he's shivering and can't seem to stop is what finally wakes Rodney up enough to get him to pull on John and together they manage to turn the tub off and stumble out, still soaking wet.

Luckily, Elizabeth packed towels, and she provides them with a bunch while they hang their clothes up out on her porch in the hope that they'll dry out a little bit. The towels don't really help with the shivering, and after a few minutes John stumbles his way down the hall and comes back dragging Elizabeth's comforter behind him.

He wraps Rodney up in it without a word, picks Rodney up when he's completely swaddled, and sprawls out beside him on the living room floor. Rodney manages to twist and grumble his way partially free of the blanket, throwing the excess over John, who mumbles something and buries his face against the blanket.

Elizabeth, drinking what Rodney thinks is her fourth cup of coffee, just shakes her head, sitting on the side of her counter. Rodney is blaming her for the pounding currently going on inside his head, so he ignores her and burrows closer to John instead.

He wonders how much John remembers of the previous night, and then shoves the thought away.

None of them really move until Ronon finally wanders down the hall. He has a sheet wrapped around his waist, bare chested, and Rodney blinks at the faint marks on the other boy's neck. Sitting up doesn't work so well while tangled up in the comforter, with John clinging to him, but Rodney makes an effort anyway.

He blurts, "Oh my God!" pointing at Ronon and Elizabeth, who blushes and ducks her head. She's wearing Ronon's shirt, and possibly his boxers too. Ronon just raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to kiss her, and Rodney flails again.

John pokes him in the side, grumbling, "Go back to sleep."

Rodney pokes back, and then forgets why he was so concerned about Ronon and Elizabeth. His head hurts. And he's cold. And John is right there. Rodney yawns, slumping back down and hoping that his head isn't pounding quite so badly when he wakes up again.

Somewhere far away, Elizabeth laughs.

* * *

By the time they actually manage to be awake in any useful way, it's nearly five in the afternoon. Their clothes are dry, but Rodney's shirt is missing, and the rest of their clothing smells...not exactly like roses. They pull them on anyway, John insisting Rodney take his shirt with constant little frowns at Ronon that Rodney decides not to ask about.

Apparently, they'd dropped the moving truck back off at the rental place while Rodney was crashed out yesterday. Elizabeth tells them to shower again, though it doesn't help much with the clothing situation, and then they're all cramming into her car for the drive back home. Rodney keeps catching John staring at him, which is only fair, because he keeps staring back.

Rodney really, really, wishes that Ronon and Elizabeth were somewhere else.

* * *

Elizabeth insists on buying them dinner when they finally get back into town, which, because of their clothing situation, ends up being a drive-thru. Rodney doesn't really mind, sitting outside the car, eating a hamburger and leaning against John. He's pretty sure it's a good sign that John still wants to lean against him. His stomach still feels kind of sickly nervous.

Ronon keeps getting distracted from his food, and Rodney focuses on that to distract himself. The other boy finally sets his sandwich down, tilting his chin up and taking a deep breath. Elizabeth touches his shoulder, and Ronon says, "Something smells wrong."

Rodney rolls his eyes, "Yes, we've been over that al—"

"Not you," Ronon pushes to his feet, Elizabeth rising after him and grabbing his hand. Rodney exchanges a look with John, who nods, and they stand together. Ronon is turning in a slow circle, doing his impersonation of a satellite dish, before stopping. He's staring at something down the street.

For a moment none of them speak, and then Rodney blurts, "So, are we talking wrong as in lutefisk or are we talking wrong as—"

Ronon interrupts, "It's the bug smell," and starts walking. Rodney reaches out to grab John's hand automatically, relaxing a little more when John squeezes back. Either John doesn't remember, or he meant it. Rodney doesn't have time to figure it out past that right now, not with Ronon and Elizabeth hurrying down the street.

John pulls on his hand, and Rodney nods up at him, managing a tight smile. They hurry after the others.

* * *

No one questions Ronon's senses. It would be stupid, and a waste of time. If he says he smells the bugs, then he does. The frustrating thing is that Ronon could probably smell them a mile away. They end up marching down a narrow alley, Ronon's head turning from side to side as he breathes.

And then Ronon is stopping, tilting his head up and backtracking to the metal stairway a dozen feet behind them. He starts up it without pausing, Elizabeth on his heels, John pushing in front of Rodney, keeping a hand around Rodney's wrist. The building is four stories, but Ronon stops on the third, staring at the white door for a moment before pushing it open.

Inside the building, it's dark and humid, and smells like rotting meat. Rodney's stomach, already not exactly feeling its best, almost rebels. He covers his mouth with his hand, trying to muffle the faint gagging sound he can't stop. John squeezes his wrist, shooting him a worried look.

Ronon is moving forward like he knows exactly where he's going and the temperature is dropping steadily, Elizabeth holding one hand over her nose. Rodney tries to imagine how bad it must smell to Ronon, and then pushes the thought away.

The floor creaks under them when they walk, and John steps in something that crunches, making a face. John twists around, whispering into the still, thick, air, "Can you get us some light?" And Rodney reaches out, pressing his fingers against the grimy, dirty, wall, and reaching out to the dormant electrical lines running through the building.

Ronon kicks open a door just as Rodney brings the lights up.

* * *

Elizabeth recovers first, while the rest of them are still staring openmouthed at the contents of the room. She says, "Oh, no way," momentarily taking her hand away from her nose, then making a face and returning it. Rodney nods mutely in agreement, gaping.

There are, well, Rodney doesn't know exactly what to call them. Eggs. Some kind of eggs, all over the ceiling and the walls of the room. They're sticky white, clumped together, dripping liquid the same consistency as snot down onto the floor.

John says, "Okay, that's just fucking weird," stepping forward and peering up into the room. Rodney presses up behind him, looking over his shoulder. On the floor there are lots of crushed shells, but no crushed little bodies.

Rodney turns to look at Ronon, "Are there more?"

For a moment Ronon doesn't reply, and then he nods, pointing at another door down the hall, and another. Rodney curses under his breath, pulling back to look at Elizabeth. She's already frowning, the temperature dropping again when she says, "You might want to step back."

John pulls Rodney to the side when Elizabeth steps forward, her hands balling up into fists and frost crawling up over her knuckles. She stands in the doorway, and the wall of cold that hits them is so severe that Rodney hisses, hiding his face against John's shoulders until it passes.

It's still chilly, even when she steps back, and the inside of the room is suddenly a winter wonderland. Rodney peers inside, the eggs frozen solid, the goo now shiny icicles. It is, oddly enough, almost pretty like this. Almost.

John clears his throat, says, "Well, one down," and starts down the hall. Rodney hurries after him, catching his hand and holding on. John smiles at him, tangling their fingers together, and Elizabeth makes a coughing sound, motioning expectantly at the door.

John slams it open, sketching a little half bow, and then yelling when a shit load of things pour out into the hallway.

Rodney shouts, John shoving him back against the wall, the chittering of the bugs scampering around them momentarily all he can hear. They swarm across the walls, up to the ceiling, all over the floor. Rodney catches sight of a dozen of the things swarming up Ronon's legs, the boy stomping on the ones by his feet, roaring in anger.

Elizabeth curses, loud, flash freezing all the ones of the ceiling, yelling at Ronon, "Stay still!" and solidifying the ones crawling on him. The bugs fall to the ground, where they shatter to pieces. John jerks to the side, batting wildly at the ones that are swarming over him, splattering blue blood everywhere.

One jumps on John from the wall, legs extended like some nightmare hug, aiming for his head. Rodney growls, grabbing it by the tail and ripping it off of John, slamming it into the wall and then stepping on it until it goes to mush.

And as quickly as it started, it's over. A few of the ones Elizabeth froze to the ceiling fall off, shattering with a bang. John is breathing hard, covered in bits of the bugs, looking a little wild around the eyes. Ronon is still stomping on the dead bodies, expression wild and angry.

Rodney grabs John when after a moment he keeps swatting at himself. John tries to shake him off, and Rodney pulls on him hard, yelling, "John! They're gone! They're dead, and you're fine!" and for the first time Rodney realizes that apparently the bug-thing actually is an issue. John looks at him, wild-eyed, and Rodney says softer, "They're gone. They're all gone, okay?"

John gasps in a deep breath, catching himself against the wall, and Rodney finds himself with an armful of the other boy, John breathing hard against his neck. Rodney shushes him, stroking his hair, and reminding himself to set up some kind of super flytrap back at the house.

For a long moment none of them say anything. Elizabeth steps forward, and points into the room, ice crystals forming briefly on her eyelashes. She says, her voice just a little shaky, "There's still one room left." She looks down the hall.

Rodney nods, disentangling himself from John carefully, "You stay here, okay? Watch our, uh, our back. Okay?" Elizabeth and Ronon are already standing outside the other door. John shakes his head hard, straightening up and grabbing Rodney's hand in a bruising grip.

John grits out, "I'm not leaving you," his eyes dark and huge.

Rodney thinks for a half second, staring across at John, the way his mouth is all pressed tight, the way he's gone pale. Then he nods at Elizabeth and Ronon, and says, "Well, I'll stay here then," it's not like he's very much use against the bug things anyway. He prays it's another egg room.

Ronon exchanges a look with Elizabeth, and then kicks the door open.

Rodney doesn't get to see what's in the room, because that's about when something jumps on his head.

* * *

The pressure around his neck is enough to cut off his air supply for a moment. Rodney jerks his arms up, trying to pull the thing off, feeling the long tail wrapping under his arm, feeling something wet and hot pressing against his ear. He screams, panicking, but not out loud.

There's pressure around his mind, pushing his thoughts down, writing over them. Rodney gags, trying to grab for the thing around his neck, but unable to control his arms. He can feel another presence inside his skull, like Teyla, but rougher, stronger, twisting him into the shape it wants and—

And it's over, just like that. Rodney blinks, finds himself on his knees, sucking in air. A half second later John is tilting his chin up, rubbing at the goo down the side of Rodney's face, yelling, "Holy fuck! Holy fuck! Rodney!"

There is fresh blue bug-goo all over John's hands. He looks panicked, and Rodney opens his mouth to explain that he's fine, that all it did was slobber all over him a little bit, and give him a headache. Elizabeth interrupts before he can say a word, her voice weird and flat, "Guys? I think you should see this."

Rodney exchanges a long look with John. They stand slowly.

* * *

John says, staring through the doorway, "Okay, this is just getting really fucking weird." Rodney nods mutely in agreement. This room is half full of eggs, two of the walls still bare, slime only starting to pile up on the floor. That hardly qualifies as weird anymore.

The weird part is the girl crouching in one of the corners. She doesn't look much older than them, her expression blank and distant, framed by stringy red hair. She's wearing some kind of loose dress, the fabric soaking wet from her hips down. Her knees are bowed out, and, as they watch, one of the white eggs falls to land with a soft, squishy, thump between her feet.

Rodney groans, "Oh, that's just—that's just gross," because he's fairly certain that pregnancy is traumatic enough all on its own. He didn't particularly need this image making it even worse for him to contemplate. That's not stopping it from happening.

Ronon rumbles, mouth pressed up against his arm again, "Freeze her too, let's go."

Elizabeth looks at him sharply, her mouth turning down in the corners. She's whispering, even though the girl shows no sign of realizing that they're in the room, "I am not going to freeze her." She looks a little offended just at the suggestion.

"She's making the bugs, what do you want to do with her?" Ronon is still staring at the girl, eyes flat and hard.

Rodney sighs, touching Elizabeth's elbow softly, keeping his voice low, "I think you and John should check some of the other rooms, okay?" And when John opens his mouth to protest, "Look, just let me and Ronon take care of her. You might—maybe you should go outside?"

For a moment Elizabeth and John just stare at him, Elizabeth looking shocked, John just upset. Rodney gets that they don't understand, he's not asking them to. But some things have to be done, and Rodney doesn't see any reason to hesitate over doing them.

John starts, "Would you stop doing—"

And that's about when the girl in the room jerks into a standing position, screeches at them, and charges them. Ronon lunges for her, and Rodney hears the sound her elbow makes connecting with Ronon's jaw, even if he doesn't see it happen.

Elizabeth makes a sharp sound, trying to catch Ronon when he goes down, and the girl grabs her, flinging her across the room. John grabs the girl, and she twists in his hold, hissing and clawing at his face, going for his eyes with a single-minded viciousness that's frightening.

Rodney throws himself at her, grabs her hair and yanks back hard, and then Ronon is there, one big hand braced against her chin, the other around the back of her head, twisting. The girl goes limp, John stumbling back a step. Rodney turns his head to the side and spits, yanking his fingers out of her lank hair, looking up and holding Ronon's gaze.

After a moment Ronon nods, and Rodney mirrors the gesture, turning and pressing one hand against the wall, frowning as he concentrates. Ronon is saying, "We need to go," walking into the room and grabbing Elizabeth, who is still slumped against the wall, one of her arms bent the wrong way.

Rodney can feel John staring at him, but for now he avoids meeting John's gaze, moving things until everything falls into place the way he wants it to. He takes a deep breath, and walks towards the exit. After a moment he hears John fall into step behind him, and then Ronon.

By the time they reach ground level again, smoke is pouring out of the window, flames licking up the side of the brickwork. Rodney watches it for a half second, and then turns, tucking his hands under his arms and just walking, because he can't be here anymore.

John catches him within steps, hand closing around Rodney's upper arm, voice thick, "Rodney, what is—"

Rodney twists his mouth up into something that doesn't feel like a smile, barking out a laugh and managing, "I don't walk with the angels anymore, John, remember?" And when John just stares at him he jerks away, saying softer, "I'm not sorry."

They take Elizabeth to the hospital, no one saying a word.

* * *

They're all of three steps into the emergency room when John's mother is there, her voice lined with stress, grabbing them both and talking fast, "It's okay, he's fine, he's just fine, the shield worked, oh God, thank you so much," and then she's hugging Rodney so tightly he can barely breathe. He freezes, wondering what the hell they missed.

John is, apparently, wondering the same thing, demanding, "What? What's going on? Mom?"

And, somehow, the last thing Rodney had expected was for her to start crying. John shoots him a panicked look, and Rodney pats at her shoulders, gesturing in the direction that he's pretty sure the nurse's lounge is. It's been a long time since he hung out in there, but he doubts they moved it.

John grabs his mother, supporting her and dragging her along. Rodney hesitates for a half second, and then John is twisting back, taking his hand and pulling him along as well. It makes some of the pressure in Rodney's chest ease, and he exhales shakily.

The nurse's lounge is right where Rodney remembers it being, and he pushes the door open. John manages to get his mother over to a couch, where she curls over her knees and wipes at her cheeks. John sits beside her, rubbing her back, and Rodney automatically pours her a cup of water, kneeling in front of her and giving her time to take it.

John asks, carefully, "Did something happen to dad?"

For a moment his mother says nothing, sipping at the water, still rubbing at her eyes. Then she swallows a deep breath, pushing her hair back from where it's come loose from her bun. She says, "No. No, he's fine. He. Someone tried to hurt him. But he's fine. The shield," she waves a hand, "He had the shield."

Rodney sits down on the ground, staring blankly forward, John making a tight, pained, sound. For a moment John just sits, hands balled up into fists in his lap, before asking, "What happened? Who tried—who did it?" his voice is curiously flat. Rodney wants to reach out to him, but restrains himself.

John's mother shakes her head, then squares up her shoulders, laughing hoarsely, "Look at me. It's ridiculous."

"Mom. Who was it?" John stands jerkily, pacing in a tight circle, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He's staring at the ground hard, and Rodney curls his hands up in his lap. God, he's so glad the shields worked. There'd been no way to test them, really.

For a long moment John's mother is silent again. Finally she sighs, "I don't know. One of the other officers. He killed—he—" and that's when the door slams open, and John's father bursts in, looking rumpled and out of sorts, but fine and alive.

John makes a choking sound, reaching for him, and his father says, "We've got problems."

Yeah, Rodney would say that they do.

* * *

##### Part Five

John's father lays it all out, flat and almost toneless, while they all sit in the nurse's lounge. Rodney listens with only half his attention, poking around at the microwave, fridge, cell phones, everything else around the room. When he has what he needs, he sits on the floor, piles it in front of him, and concentrates.

The officer that had gone on the rampage down at the station had a bug wrapped around his neck when he did. The four people he'd killed had all been in the cell with John's father, months ago, during the G.E.N.I.I. attack. And he would have ripped John's father limb from limb, thwarted only by the energy shield Rodney had given the man.

They had already known that officer Helms had been killed in the first attack at the lake. George Schlotterbeck had been a volunteer firefighter who had been on scene when the G.E.N.I.I. attacked. It's a pattern that Rodney isn't having a lot of trouble putting together.

He closes his eyes just for a second, working through the more complicated parts of the shield. It's easier to build it this time, to remember what he did initially and duplicate it. John's mother is saying, low and wretched, "The kids were there too, Regan. Are you telling me—"

John interrupts, his face in his hands, his voice muffled, "You don't have to worry anymore. It's over—" he cuts off with a ragged sound, "You don't have to worry anymore. We found the nest and, uh, destroyed it." John's voice is low and guttural. Rodney fights down the urge to go hold him. He isn't exactly sure it would be welcome, not after what he's done.

John's mother twists on the couch, "Oh, sweetie, there might be more, we can't just—"

"There was a girl there," John sounds wretched, the words bitten off, "That's where they, uh, that's where they came from. She—" John chokes, and then shakes his head, staring down hard at the floor, "She's dead now."

For a moment no one speaks, and Rodney takes a deep breath. He stands, the shield heavy in his hands, while John's father says, "What happened?" soft and gentle, his big hand wrapped around the back of John's neck, his eyes dark and worried. Rodney opens his mouth, because he won't make John tell them.

John never gives him the chance to speak, "It was an accident. There was a fire, and she was hurt. We couldn't get to her." John looks up, holding Rodney's gaze, and Rodney blinks, trying to read what, exactly, is going on behind John's eyes. "But she's gone now. And all the eggs."

"Eggs," John's mother makes a face, shaking her head. Rodney just stares at John, his heart pounding hard up against his ribs. John doesn't look angry. He looks tired, and confused, and lost, his hands hanging down between his knees. Rodney dares a small step towards him.

And John is on his feet just like that, grabbing Rodney by the shoulders and pulling him close. Rodney squeezes his eyes shut, John's skin warm under his hands. He wonders when someone's going to ask where John's shirt went. Right now he doesn't care.

John whispers against Rodney's hair, voice hitching, "They're all gone now. It's over, right?"

Rodney turns the new shield over in his fingers, and tosses it to John's father before holding John closer. And right now, after the day they've had, after everything that's happened, it just makes more sense to agree, no matter how much Rodney's gut insists that the worst hasn't happened yet. Rodney presses his face against John's shoulder, and says, "Yeah, it's over." Hell, maybe it even is. He can hope.

After a long moment, John's father sighs, "I really have to go see how bad the damage was."

* * *

It turns out that Elizabeth has a trick elbow, and the worst thing wrong with her was a knot on the back of her head. She and Ronon don't stick around, looking worn thin and stressed out when they walk away. Rodney thinks it's a good sign that they're still holding hands.

As though reading Rodney's thoughts, John chooses then to squeeze Rodney's hand. Rodney looks up at him, standing outside the hospital, and John leans down, pressing their foreheads together. For a long moment they stay like that, John wrapping one hand around the back of Rodney's neck, just leaning against each other.

When John speaks, his voice is almost a whisper, "I think we should go home, shower, and then..." he trails off, and then rallies, "And then talk. About last night." Rodney blinks up at him, and considering that John is swaying them gently from side to side, prays that he has a clue about which way the conversation is going to go.

He nods, "Yeah, I think—that's a good idea," he squeezes John's hand, and John smiles, just a little bit. Then they just have to wait for the bus to come to take them to the other side of town. They don't talk much on the ride home, but John keeps their fingers laced together, and relaxes just a little bit when Rodney rests his head against John's shoulder.

* * *

Apparently, neither of them had been counting on Teyla and Carson being camped out on the front steps. Teyla is across the yard the second she sees them, grabbing Rodney and shaking him hard before squeezing him tight. She doesn't say a thing, and Rodney wonders what he's been projecting at her to get this kind of response.

After a long moment she pulls back, slapping his shoulder, her jaw set when she says, "He is not going to abandon you," soft and scornful. Rodney ducks his head, blushing, and John wraps an arm around his shoulders, leading the lot of them into the house.

John says, "Look, we really need to, uh, do some things. Talk about some things. I mean." He's blushing as well, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet. Rodney bites his bottom lip against the relieved smile that's trying to break free.

Teyla looks between them, Carson poking around inside the fridge, and then says, "Rodney will shower first. There are things you and I must discuss. And then you will shower. And when you are done, Carson and I will leave." Her tone offers no room for disagreement.

Rodney shrugs at John, whose mouth is hanging open just a little bit. Rodney reaches out, squeezes John's wrist and murmurs, "She can out-stubborn us both." John frowns, but then sighs, nodding. Rodney hesitates for just a second before hurrying upstairs, and then leans forward, pressing a kiss to John's cheek and tripping over his feet all the way to the bathroom.

It's probably the fastest, most thorough, shower he's ever taken in his life.

By the time he makes it back to the kitchen, John is leaning heavily against the table, fingers digging into the edge of the wood. John is staring at the ground, and Teyla is making her intense face. Rodney hesitates in the doorway, clearing his throat after a moment, wondering why exactly Carson has been banished to the living room, but afraid to ask.

John jerks his head up, and his expression is all deep and soft. It makes Rodney's toes curl. Especially when John pushes away from the table, crowding Rodney back against the wall and just staring at him hard. Rodney swallows, not sure if he should smile or not.

John strokes his knuckles back across Rodney's cheek, tilting his head to the side, and then leans forward, his breath brushing across Rodney's ear when he says, "I meant what I said last night, Rodney. Better than everything." Rodney shivers, and John steps back, biting his bottom lip hard and bouncing in place before taking off for the stairs at a run.

Rodney blinks, slowing down his breathing enough to look at Teyla. He demands, "What did you tell him?"

Teyla just rolls her eyes at him, crossing the room gracefully to hug him. She says, carefully, "He cares for you very much. As you care for him. This nervousness you feel, it has no foundation." She hugs him again, and this time Rodney cautiously hugs her back.

They end up in the living room, Rodney staring at the show on the television without seeing a damn thing. When John finally comes thundering down the stairs, Rodney is on his feet in an instant. He regrets, fleetingly, that John felt the need to put a shirt back on.

Teyla and Carson stand just as quickly, exchanging a look and heading for the door. John yanks it open, and Rodney is sure that at any moment John is just going to pick them up and toss them out. He really wouldn't mind that happening at all.

Instead, they walk out under their own power, John waving and saying, "Please, please, don't call or something, okay?" voice strained and more than a little desperate. Rodney feels something in his stomach flip, edging another step closer to John.

Teyla laughs, already walking down the steps of the porch, calling over her shoulder, "You will be—"

Rodney only catches a flash of moment in the shadows of the porch out of the corner of his eye. Something moving fast, John shouting, and then yelping, something high and pained. Rodney is to him is less than a second, just as well when John's legs kick out, his heels drumming on the ground while Rodney tries to support the other boy's weight.

There's something thick and dark around John's neck, and Rodney curses, grabbing for the bug, furious because goddamnit they had been so—

John grabs him, fingers squeezing closed way too tight around Rodney's wrist and jerking his hand away from the bug. Rodney yelps, and they finally collapse to the ground, Rodney shouting, "John! John, stop!" and the grip around his wrist releases.

Teyla and Carson run up, just as John grabs Rodney, throwing him into the house and then slamming the door shut. Rodney lands against the coat rack, shaking his head, adrenaline pouring into his bloodstream. When he looks up, John is looming over him, eyes flat and blank, the legs of the bug wrapped around his neck, the thing's tail curled under his arm.

Rodney says, "It's going to be—" and his voice cuts off when John bends down, grabbing him by the neck and lifting him straight up. Rodney scrambles at John's hand, imagining all the blood at the campsite, at the farmhouse, hearing bodies torn apart in his head.

John stares up through him, eyes eerily empty, and Rodney jerks in his grip, spots swimming up behind his eyes. And then John drops him, walking around him towards the stairs. Rodney rubs at his throat, sucking in desperate swallows of air, pushing to his feet.

He can hear, now, Teyla and Carson banging on the door. For the moment he ignores it, making himself move, dragging himself up the stairs, his mind jumbled together and thick with panic. He slides into their room just as John straps on the flight belt, and throws himself out the window in a shower of broken glass.

Rodney yells, something wordless, barely feeling himself cross the room, watching John shoot into the sky, his throat tight and his stomach sick.

Rodney pounds the wall hard, spinning around, tripping over the steps on his way back to the first floor. Teyla and Carson are still pounding on the front door, and Rodney sends Teyla panicked, half-formed thoughts, trying to make her understand.

And then he's in the garage. It takes less than a thought to get the garage door up, and the door of the Charger swings open before he reaches it, the engine roaring to life. Rodney throws himself behind the wheel, the door slamming closed as he slams it into reverse, the door opening again right as Teyla and Carson run up. Rodney snaps, "Get in!" when they hesitate.

They do.

Rodney braces his hands on the dashboard, tips his head back, and they're out of the driveway, tires screaming against blacktop, fishtailing for just a second before they're lurching forward. Carson yells, "Where the hell are we going?" scrambling at his seatbelt, voice drenched in panic.

Rodney doesn't answer, reaching out ahead of them, shoving other cars off the road, stalling their engines, locking their doors. All around him he can hear the engines, and in the corner of his brain, moving so quick he can barely track it, he can feel the flight belt.

The Charger roars through the streets, Rodney sinking down into it, pushing faster-faster-faster down the path he's cleared. He feels it when the flight belt lands and shuts off, and holds the place he last felt it tightly, hurrying towards it as quickly as he can.

They take a turn sharp, Teyla and Carson tumbling across the back seat, Rodney making himself handholds in the dashboard and holding on. He thinks they might be across town, and then there, the flight belt is right in front of them.

Rubber goes everywhere when Rodney stops, the car spinning in a tight three-sixty and rocking back and forth on its shocks. Rodney is already out the door, only distantly aware that he's at the police station, and really, that shouldn't be a surprise.

He takes the steps two at a time, Teyla yelling behind him, steadying Carson on his feet, "Rodney! He is not himself! He will kill you!"

Rodney shakes his head, sparing her just a look, feeling his smile stretch wide and dangerous, "No, no he won't." She opens her mouth, eyes huge and dark, dragging Carson forward, and Rodney says, softer, to himself, "He won't," and steps over the shattered doors, following the crashes and the screams.

Everyone else is going the other way, heading towards the door, and Rodney shoulders his way through the crowd. Someone tries to grab his arm, a man that Rodney doesn't really see, barking, "You can't go—" and Rodney just doesn't have time for this. He waves a hand, the cellphone in the man's pocket stabbing down into the thick muscle of his thigh. The man releases Rodney with a choked on scream. Carson is behind him. Rodney doesn't worry.

He takes another turn, feet sliding on the rubble in the hall, and his breath catches.

John is at the end of the hallway, drawing his fist back and slamming it down onto the outside of the shield Rodney built. Rodney can see John's father, protected behind the faint green light, yelling into his radio. John draws back again, and Rodney can see the shield fluctuate, wonders how long it's been on, wonders if there's any way for him to boost its lasting power.

Rodney makes himself keep running, even though his lungs are screaming, yelling, "John!" even though he doubts it'll get any response. It catches John's father's attention, anyway, and he looks up, his eyes going wide when he sees Rodney.

Whatever John's father yells is swallowed by the shield, but he looks anguished. Rodney just smiles grimly, sliding to a stop beside John, who is pulling his fist back again, his expression blank and empty. Rodney grabs John's arm, throwing his weight backwards, knowing that he can't pull John anywhere.

John shakes his arm, like he's dislodging a pest, and the wall really fucking hurts when Rodney hits it. Rodney shakes his head, John's father yelling mutely on the other side of the shield. John punches it again, and then scowls, reaching down and grabbing the whole thing, shaking it around violently. Inside, John's father slams back and forth, and Rodney thinks, mind feeling just a little fuzzy, that that's a very real design flaw. He'll have to fix it in the next model.

Rodney pushes to his feet, shaking his head again. John is still scowling at the shield, trying to crush it between his arms, expression almost managing frustration when he doesn't succeed. And then he's twisting, hurling the entire thing to the right, where it slams through a door and then into a wall. John's father bounces off the inside of the shield, and then collapses.

Rodney feels something twist in his chest, and grabs John desperately when he starts for the shield.

This time John makes a frustrated sound, whirling on Rodney, fist drawn back. Rodney blinks, and exhales, staring into John's blank eyes, feeling John's knuckles where they're kissing against his cheekbone. John is trembling from the strain, his other hand closed tight around Rodney's shoulder, frozen like that.

Rodney says, soft, "John? Can you hear me?"

For a moment nothing changes at all, and then Rodney feels John's fingers extend, stroking up the line of his cheek. John's voice comes out twisted and choked, halting, "Rod-ney," each syllable obviously a struggle.

Rodney laughs, the sound half-crazed even to him, nodding just a little bit, rubbing his cheek against John's fingers, "That's right. That's right, I'm Rodney. And you don't want to do that. Please, whatever this is doing to you, you can beat it. We're supposed to be talking, remember? About last night?"

John's expression remains blank. He's just stroking at Rodney's cheek, staring, like he's stuck in a loop. Rodney says, "Okay, okay. Maybe I should just start then? I was, uh, kind of planning to just say this, actually." The room seems to have a lot less air than it just did. Rodney struggles for a deep breath, gives up, and leans forward instead.

John doesn't budge. Not when Rodney carefully raises a hand, running his fingers back through John's hair. Not when Rodney shifts in close, until he can feel John's breath against his lips. Rodney closes his eyes, and tilts his head just a little to the side, pressing his mouth up against John's.

It's dry, just a brief press really, a tiny piece of what Rodney has wanted for so damn long. Rodney swallows heavily, his eyes slowly sliding open, shifting back just enough to scan John's eyes for any sign that he's there, somewhere. He whispers, "John?" nervously shifting his weight, praying for something, anything. "This is where you kiss me back."

And then, because he has nothing else to lose, Rodney leans forward again, sucking lightly on John's lower lip.

John shakes against him, exhaling raggedly, his hand jerking up. Someone screams, far away, but Rodney ignores it because John is grabbing the body of the bug around his neck, ripping it off, squeezing it down to goo and then throwing it at the wall.

Rodney blinks at him. There's a slick of gross, sticky stuff down the side of John's face that's the only sign of the passenger he had. Rodney takes a bracing breath and looks up to John's eyes, and swallows when John blinks, shaking his head, voice coming out thick and slurred, "Rodney."

"Yeah, yeah, John, I'm right here," so close it doesn't quite seem real. John opens his eyes slowly, scanning Rodney's expression, eyes dark and with life behind them again. Rodney feels himself holding his breath, even though he tries to tell himself not to.

John strokes Rodney's cheek again, whispering into the negligible distance between them, "I—really? This?" so soft and full of wanting that it makes something in Rodney's chest ache. He strokes his hand up and down John's arm.

Rodney nods, "Yeah, this. This a lot." John smiles, something bright and huge, abruptly sobering, his hand curving around the back of Rodney's head, pulling him a little closer. For a long moment they stare at each other, and then Rodney closes his eyes and leans in again.

And it's about a thousand times better with John kissing him back.

John pants against his lips, "Oh, god," ragged and rough, his other arm circling Rodney's back, tugging him closer until they're all pressed up against each other. Rodney nods, noses bumping, finding each other's mouths again, Rodney's arms winding around John's neck.

He's definitely counting this one as the first kiss. John blurts, "I wanted—I've wanted this so long," like he can't stop himself, dropping fast kisses across Rodney's cheeks and forehead, back to his mouth, "Forever. God, tell me this isn't a joke."

Rodney slides his hands around, cupping John's face and slowing him down, the kiss turning into something long and sweet. When he pulls back, John's eyes are half-lidded, his mouth reddened, and Rodney says, "Me too, John. Since you sat beside me on the bus." And kisses John again.

It seems like it takes a long time before Rodney remembers where they are. Or why they're there. He shakes himself, stepping away from John, who makes a protesting sound and pulls him back, kissing him again, like he doesn't want to ever stop.

Rodney laughs, twisting away, spinning back to plant a kiss on the corner of John's mouth, babbling, "Your dad, I've got to check on," and he waves a hand, which John catches, kissing at his fingers. Rodney can feel himself grinning helpless, sure that the shield should have at least dampened the force of the impact to the point that John's father shouldn't be badly hurt.

John follows him across the room, and the one time Rodney looks over his shoulder John has his gaze dropped, something hungry and wanting in his expression. It makes Rodney bounce a little, makes him wave huge at Teyla and Carson, who appear to be frozen in shock a few feet away.

John's father is lying on his side, but he is breathing, and there's no blood. Rodney feels another little burst of relief, turning to smile at John again, and Teyla screams, "No!" just as Rodney steps through the door.

Oh. So that's what Jeannie meant.

* * *

John can't quite feel the ground under his feet. The day feels like it's moving too fast, one thing after another slamming down on them. But none of it matters, not one single thing, not when he can still feel Rodney's lips pressed against his.

Teyla screams, going to her knees, and John feels the giddiness that had been buoying him tear apart. In the doorway, Rodney sways, one hand groping out for the doorframe and missing. He steps backwards, his knee giving out, and John catches him before he can fall, lowering him gently to the ground, distantly aware that Teyla is wailing, screaming like she's dying.

Or, John supposes, like someone who she's connect to is dying.

John tries to curse, but nothing will come out of his throat. Rodney blinks up at him, and then raises his head, staring at the handle of the knife sticking out of his chest with a faintly puzzled expression. One of Rodney's arms comes up, and he wraps his bloody fingers around the wood before John catches him and manages to stop him from pulling it out.

John's words all come back in a rush, hoarse and choking, "Carson. Carson! Help me! Hey, hey, you're fine, you're fine, Carson is right here, you're going—Carson! Stop, you can't take the knife out, it's—Carson! Get over here!"

There's blood all over John's hands, wet and sticky, and somehow he only realizes then that he's patting at Rodney's chest, not sure where to push to keep all the blood in. He's breathing way too fast, Rodney flailing a hand out, grabbing John's fingers and squeezing so weakly that John sobs.

Rodney's mouth twists up, pain warping his expression, and Carson is there, sliding down to his knees, pushing John to the side, flattening a hand on Rodney's chest. Teyla is in a pile on the floor, her body hitching with sobs, her arms wrapped tight around her chest.

John feels like he's trapped in a nightmare, able to see everything but not able to stop any of it. He grabs Rodney's hands, squeezing, babbling, "You're going to be fine, Carson is here, you're going, oh God, you're going to be fine," he has to be fine. This can't be happening.

Rodney shakes his head, tears running out of the corners of his eyes, blood out of the corner of his mouth. His teeth are red with it, and he mouths something, no sound behind the movement. John recognizes his own name well enough. John rocks himself back and forth, "No, no, no, no, no," and he can't tell if he's screaming or whispering. It doesn't matter.

Carson is yelling, words that John doesn't understand, shoving John away again, wrapping his hands around the knife and pulling it out. Rodney bows up, his eyes rolling back in his head, blood pouring out of the wound, out of his mouth, and he's got to be drowning in it.

John watches Carson's hands stain red with blood, watching the healer's mouth move as he holds his hands down on Rodney's chest. But Rodney is going still, his hand in John's going limp, lifeless. John can't breathe, staring down at Rodney's face, gone slack and loose, his mouth and chin stained red with blood, his eyes open and sightless.

Someone touches John's shoulder and he shoves them away, curling over Rodney, babbling words he can't hear through his aching chest. And then something pops, and he can hear himself, "—leave me, I will find you. I will come for you—" and he can feel Carson, stroking his hair and back, crooning to him softly.

Teyla is flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling, breathing fast and shallow, her legs and arms writhing. Carson is babbling, thick voiced apologies, and Rodney is still. And dead. John gasps, pressing kisses to the boy's forehead and cheeks, not sure who to damn.

And there's a slow, heavy, clap from the doorway.

John looks up slowly, feeling himself shaking, tears running down his cheeks. He knows Kolya, the big man leaning against the wall with a smile on his face, the scar Rodney put on his neck lighter than the rest of his skin.

The man says, when John looks at him, "I did get so tired of you children sticking your noses where they didn't belong," calm and even. There's no blood on the man's hands. Not on his clothes. Nothing. But there's an empty sheath for a knife at his hip.

John stands stiffly, his mind curiously blank all of a sudden. He's not sure he can breathe. It doesn't matter. He has no reason to breathe. John tilts his head to the side, blinking at the man, asking just to make sure, "You did this? You killed him?"

The man sighs, "They say when you want something done right...and he just wouldn't stay out of my business," and he grins.

John stares at him, then looks down at himself. He's covered with Rodney's blood, it's already starting to dry stiff and tacky on his hands. He says, his voice flat and foreign to his own ears, "I'm going to kill you now. You can run, if you want."

Kolya laughs, throwing his head back, and John is on him just like that. It's nothing to pull the man's arm out of the socket at the shoulder, to break both of his legs with two sharp kicks. John wraps his hand around the man's throat, digging in until fresh blood soaks his fingers, twists, and slams Kolya down to the ground hard enough to break ribs.

The man isn't laughing anymore, his eyes wide with pain and fear. John stares at him, covers the man's face with his hand, and squeezes. Bones break under his fingers, and Kolya tries to scream, something tight and cut off when his jaw shatters.

When John is done, there's gray matter leaking out across the floor. He stares down at the dead man, wiping his hands absently on the man's shirt. John turns slowly to look back at Rodney, at Carson, who is staring at him, mouth open and eyes huge, at Teyla who suddenly jerks at the same time Carson does.

John demands, "What?"

But they both ignore him, Carson bending over Rodney, replacing his bloody hands on Rodney's chest. Teyla yells, "Do not let him go!" dragging herself forward, wrapping her hands around Rodney's head and pressing her forehead against his, making a tight, pained sound.

"What? What the hell is going on?" John feels like he's panicking, all of a sudden, the blank emptiness gone as quickly as it appeared. He wraps his hand around one of Rodney's ankles, and startles when he feels the slow pound of a pulse.

Carson throws his head back, his face bright red with strain, yelling up to the ceiling. And Rodney coughs, bowing up off the ground, screaming, the sound changing to hiccupping sobs. John stares, Carson toppling over backwards, Teyla sagging down, her shoulders shaking.

Rodney is alive. John crawls up to him, babbling senseless words, smearing the blood on Rodney's face around, trying to get Rodney to focus on him. And then Rodney does, his eyes wide and blue and his expression all twisted up with pain, but he's alive.

Carson croaks, his voice rough and slurred, "He's—he's still hurt. Couldn't—all the way—too much—" When Carson goes quiet, it's accompanied by his eyes rolling back up in his head, and John tries to worry about it, but he just can't.

It's more important to scoop Rodney up, Rodney making a tiny whimpering sound. John promises, "It's okay, you're going to be fine," and runs through the station. There's an ambulance outside, a bunch of them, loading up people that John only vaguely remembers throwing around, and he yells, "Help me! Help me please! He's dying!"

* * *

The next few hours are a blur. John dimly recalls going back inside to check on his father after they refused to let him ride in the ambulance. He knows that he carried Teyla and Carson out as well, both of them unconscious and frighteningly still. He knows that his father took one look at Kolya and didn't say a thing, not a damn thing until John broke down and stuttered his way through an explanation that Rodney had died but wasn't dead anymore and they wouldn't let him drive along to the hospital.

John knows at some point in there his father had picked him up, and carried him out to one of the cruisers, and driven with the sirens on all the way to the hospital.

And then there's a lot of waiting. John sits with his head in his hands until his parents both come back and take him to one of the private bathrooms with a shower. The blood swirls around the drain, and for some reason that clenches John's stomach into a hard ball, and he barely manages to make it to the toilet before he's sick.

They give John clean scrubs to change into, and he ends up back in a waiting room, head in his hands again. His parents sit beside him, but John is only barely aware of them. His mind is a maelstrom of thoughts that he can't swim through. He's trying to process everything, and not managing to process anything, overloading.

When the doctor finally comes out, John's mother sidelines him. John stares at the ground, hearing her voice but not really making sense of the words. He lost Rodney once tonight. He can't lose him again. Not ever, John thinks.

And then his mother is kneeling in front of him, squeezing his knees and saying, "John, he's going to be fine, he lost a lot of blood, but he's fine," and John sobs with relief, just once before he cuts the sound off in the back of his throat.

He manages, hoarse and cracking, "Can I see him?"

* * *

When they let John in, Rodney is standing by the foot of his bed, arguing with an orderly, "—don't understand! I have to see him, he—" Rodney cuts off when John steps through the door, pushing around the orderly and stumbling towards John.

And John hears himself make a sound like he's breaking, crossing to Rodney, wrapping him up, holding him as tightly as he dares. The orderly starts to open his mouth, and John stares at him hard. Whatever is showing in John's expression must make some kind of impression on the man because he raises his hands, and makes a beeline for the door.

Rodney is babbling, "Oh, god, John, John, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," and John pulls back just enough to tip Rodney's chin up enough to kiss him. For a moment Rodney keeps right on talking against John's mouth, and then he melts into it, fisting his hands up in John's hair, holding on.

After a long moment, Rodney starts trembling, pulling back to gasp for breath, and John curses under his breath. He picks Rodney up, carrying him back to the little hospital bed, and, after a second's hesitation, crawling in beside him.

There's a thick pad of bandages over Rodney's heart, and John rests his hand over it, curling his body up around Rodney's, kissing him again. Rodney makes a soft sound against John's mouth, arm snaking around John's shoulders, whispering into the space between them in between kisses, "I died. Oh, fuck, John. I was dead."

John nods, because he can't say the words, but he knows it was true. He kisses Rodney again instead, threading the fingers of their free hands together and squeezing. John murmurs, the words pouring out before he can stop them, "But not anymore. Don't go where I can't follow you again. Please don't."

Rodney blinks up at him, and almost smiles when he says, "I'll try not to," and John has a sinking feeling that's the best he's ever going to get. He curls closer to Rodney, letting Rodney pull him down, pressing kisses to all the skin he can reach until he feels Rodney slip down into sleep.

And then John pushes up, just enough to see Rodney's face. Sleeping he doesn't look anything close to the way he looked dead, and the relief of that burns through John's blood. He presses his lips to Rodney's forehead, and stays there, listening to him breathe.

Later, they will have to talk about what happened. Later, John will have to explain what he did, and he'll expect an explanation on how Rodney isn't dead anymore then, too. But for now, John can't bring himself to give a fuck.

This is enough.

* * *

##### Epilogue

Carson's parents had to wait a week before he could fly, or John is sure they would have been gone already, taken Carson back to Scotland, where they could try again to keep him safe.

Carson still looks sick, his skin pale, dark circles under his eyes, moving the careful way Rodney does when he burns himself out. John carries the boy's luggage, unsure what the right words are to thank Carson for what he did. For Rodney, walking hand in hand with John through the airport.

When they get to the security check-point, they all stop, Carson's parents hurrying through and then casting nervous glances back at their son when he doesn't immediately follow. John sets down Carson's bags, smiling at the other boy, who manages a crooked, weak, grin back.

For a moment no one says a word, and then Teyla steps forward, weak and hurt herself, wrapping her arms around Carson in a careful hug. They'd both burnt themselves out, almost killed themselves bringing Rodney back, and John will never be able to thank them enough for that.

They haven't talked about it, not really, beyond whispers in the dark of the night. Rodney doesn't know what happened, only that he'd fallen into blackness, that he'd been sleeping and heard Teyla calling for him. She'd followed him down, held onto him, and dragged him back. Teyla won't talk about it at all, about what she saw, if anything, and John sees no reason to push her. She's done enough.

After a long moment, she shifts back, Carson brushing her hair away from her face. When they kiss it is slow and careful, both obviously in pain. He whispers against her mouth, so soft John barely hears it, and isn't sure he was supposed to hear it at all, "I will come back for you."

Teyla smiles, though her eyes are wet, nodding her head and not speaking. She steps back, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and Rodney reaches out to her, pulling her close. Ronon and Elizabeth are standing a few steps away, there for support, but giving the rest of them their space.

John is only a little surprised when Rodney gently pushes Teyla towards him. He wraps the girl up in a hug, letting her tuck her head in under his chin while Rodney stares at Carson for a long moment. Finally Rodney reaches out, taking Carson gently by the wrist and pushing the boy's hand over his heart.

There are stitches there, holding the soft tissue that Carson couldn't repair together. And under it, Rodney's heart, beating because Carson put it back together, his punctured left lung now whole and undamaged. Rodney stares down at the ground, his eyes shut tight, and Carson leans their foreheads together, wrapping his hand around the back of Rodney's neck.

They rock gently back and forth for a long moment, and then Rodney pulls back, smiling crookedly, whispering, "Thank you." Carson nods, dragging the heel of his hand over his own eyes, taking a series of deep, slow, breaths before looking up again.

Rodney puts a hand on Teyla's shoulder, and she shifts towards him, looping her arms around his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. John reaches for Carson's hand to shake, and then feels silly, ducking his head and making a face at himself. He doesn't know what to say. Or how to say it. Carson just grins at him though, saying, "Try not to be a daft idiot about him anymore, then?" and softer, against John's ear, "Watch after her, until I get back?" And John nods, because he can do that.

Then Carson is stepping back, waving, and heading through the checkpoint. John lifts his bags onto the conveyor for him, and they stand there, watching him walk through the terminal. Carson turns back, as his parents hustle him away, his gaze on Teyla as he's finally pulled around a corner.

Teyla stays over with them that night, curled up on the couch between John and Rodney, leaning her head on Rodney's shoulder as they feed her ice-cream and tell her stories about the last two years. She's just starting to relax, laughing a little at John's description of an exaggerated paper cut by one of their classmates earlier in the year, when the special news report comes on.

All that's left of the plane is a few pieces of wreckage, floating in the icy north Atlantic waters.

Teyla stares at screen blankly, until Rodney turns it off, touching her cheek, his voice low and urgent, "Maybe it's not his plane. Teyla, listen, it can't be—"

When she starts crying, it is with great, horrible, hitching sobs. John flashes Rodney a desperate look, and they wrap around her, rocking her gently back and forth as she shouts herself hoarse, tears streaking down her face. It goes on for a long time.

* * *


	2. Version With Deleted Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This version contains all the deleted scenes. For the standard version see Chapter 1, and for the DVD Commentary, see Chapter 3.

##### Prologue

When he had first found her, she had been nothing. She'd been a terrified wisp of a girl with matted hair. The years she'd spent in the woods had left her more than half-feral, vicious and unwilling to trust another person, unable to interact on any normal level with others.

When he had first found her, she'd been living—if it could be called that—in a cave. It had been dark, wet, and cold. There had been piles of small bones everywhere, her mouth and fingers stained with the blood of the small animals she fed on. The forest around her had been rank, with her waste and with the rot of what her gift could do.

She'd been young when she manifested, a twelve year old thrown through changes she couldn't possibly comprehend. There had been no one to help her with the sudden, cruel, shift in her body. She had been cast out on her own, and had done as poorly as could be expected.

But he had found her. He had taken her out of the forest, out of the cave that reeked with death and rot. He'd given her a home, though she didn't know what to do with it, and tried to tame her down to something controllable, if not human.

In the end, he decided her mind was too far gone to salvage. But she was healthy, hale, and strong. She was still young, and while her mind was a lost cause, her body still functioned properly. And she was useful. So very useful, especially now that he'd lost so much.

She was, in fact, the answer to all of his problems. And all he had to do was keep her supplied with a warm, humid place, and plenty of raw meat. It was a small price to pay for what she had already given back to him, and what she had yet to give.

* * *

##### Part One

Rodney can't breathe.

The big man's hand around his throat is rough with calluses, fingers pressing against skin hard enough to bruise. Rodney can feel each wild pound of his heart, reverberating against the man's palm, just like he can feel his lungs burning with not being able to get air.

The ground is somewhere far below his feet, a distant hope that he is never going to be able to achieve again. Rodney yanks and pulls at the man's arm, but his captor's muscles are like corded steel, impossible to budge. And besides, Rodney's own fingers feel so clumsy he can barely make them work.

There's laughter, booming in his ears, loud and mocking. Voices he doesn't know speaking words he doesn't understand, that he can't care about. It's hard to care about anything, to make himself focus, to try to keep his eyes open.

The world has fractured into pieces, a mirror broken to a thousand shards, revealed every time he manages to force his eyes open. Rodney can't keep track, and he can't breathe, and all around the edges of his vision the world is going gray, storm clouds to echo the thunder of his captor's voice. Rodney prays for lightning, choking, kicking, clawing, held back and held down and somehow sucking in a desperate swallow of air.

Rodney coughs, disoriented, his heart pounding way too fast, blinking into the gray light and wondering where the shattered pieces of the world went. His chest is burning, he feels dizzy, covered in a cold sweat, still thrashing against the arms around his chest.

Rodney doesn't realize he's babbling, words tumbling over each other out of his tight throat, until John rubs a hand up and down his stomach, voice rough with sleep when he says, "Sh, hey, Rodney, it's okay, it's okay now, you're fine."

A dream, then. Another one. Rodney pulls at John's arms, twisting around on the bed until he can sit up, pulling his legs out from under the blankets because he feels too hot, like he's ran a marathon. John shifts up beside him, hard to see with only the dim light of the closet. Then it doesn't matter, because John is wrapping an arm around Rodney's shoulders and shushing him again.

They're quiet for a long time, thankfully John doesn't push for an explanation of the nightmare. He must be as used to them as Rodney is by now, and there's no reason to burden him with the fact that this one was new. John says, stroking Rodney's hair as he speaks, mouth pressed right above Rodney's ear, "You weren't breathing. Scared the hell out of me."

Rodney nods his head as well as he can, croaks out, "Sorry," and they both laugh, more than the situation probably calls for. One laugh hitches, and Rodney covers his mouth, breathing through it, and then flopping back onto the bed. A half second later, John is slouching down beside him, bracing himself on one elbow, his eyes dark and worried. Rodney flashes him a smile that is hopefully reassuring, raising a hand to rub at his throat absently.

After a moment John catches his wrist, and John has to be able to feel the way Rodney's pulse is still pounding a million miles an hour beneath his skin. John says, voice soft and hesitant, "He's gone, Rodney."

Rodney sighs, turning his head on the pillow and looking up at John. He wants to sound sharp, unconcerned, when he speaks, but just ends up sounding tired, "But he's not. You saw him. He was right there." John had waited until they got home from the service to tell Rodney that Kolya was still alive, still running around. Being right isn't as comforting as Rodney had hoped it would be.

John makes a face, sliding his grip up to Rodney's hand and squeezing, "I meant he's not—I meant he can't hurt you. He's all alone, what's he going to do?"

The G.E.N.I.I. hadn't lasted after the attack on the police station, not with the gifted children that they'd killed. They'd done what damage control they could, but it was hard to keep public support when you killed the people you'd been claiming to protect. They'd fallen apart almost silently over the last few weeks, like everyone was too embarrassed to admit they'd ever been a part of it to bother with apologizing.

Rodney says, "Right, yeah," and rolls onto his side, pulling John close until he can feel the other boy's breath on the back of his neck. Tired as he is, he doesn't know how to fall back to sleep.

* * *

School being out is frustrating, not least because it had been providing a wonderful source of distraction that Rodney wants back. Without it there, he has too much time to think. The nightmares start making attempts to creep into his waking hours, again. Really, they're enough trouble at night, and Rodney had thought that he'd finally managed to stop having them during the day.

He's wrong. Lately, it feels like he always is.

They hit him at unexpected times. One morning, a week after the attack, he's brushing his teeth, watching the water swirl down the sink, and the world just gets small. It's ridiculous, because the bathroom is nothing like the one under the mountain. The Sheppard's is small and warm and has golden towels, for God's sake.

Rodney doesn't know how John knows something is wrong, if he's made a sound, or if the noise of him dropping his toothbrush had alerted the other boy out in the hall. John is just there, gently coaxing Rodney into releasing his death grip on the sides of the sink, into rinsing his mouth, into sitting down on the tile floor and just breathing until the pressure goes away and his heart rate slows down.

John always has a way of being there, whether it's Rodney freezing up over something as stupid as the telephone ringing, or having an incident over the trays in the food court when Teyla drags them to the mall, insisting they get swim suits.

Of course, that trip is traumatic enough without needing any help from Rodney's ridiculous issues. Rodney's not even sure why they're being forced to tag along, because Elizabeth is more than willing to accompany Teyla. They've put in their time. It's cruel and unusual punishment to keep dragging them out to shop.

Teyla disagrees, and points out that they'd best be nice, since she's still the only one of them with both a license and a car, which Rodney can't argue with. Though, the Charger is so close to being drivable that he can feel it, the potential for speed and a hunger for the road that keeps him up at night sometimes, when he allows his gift to drift a little too much.

Teyla and Elizabeth try on a lot of bathing suits. After watching the way Elizabeth grins at Ronon every time she tries one on and the way the other boy just sort of stares as hard as he possibly can, Rodney has a pretty good idea why Teyla wanted him and John along. It still doesn't seem fair. Though it might be for the best, because she tries on some things that Rodney is sure weren't meant to be worn without other clothes on overtop.

They go through one-pieces. They go through bikinis. They go through something that mostly seems to be made of string and that shows far more of Teyla's breasts than Rodney thinks Carson has even seen. At least in good lighting.

In the second store, John reaches out to grab a beach towel from a display they pass, and Rodney grins at him, nodding. Oddly, Teyla does not take kindly to it when they attempt to wrap her up in it. She appears to be willfully ignoring the fact that boys are complete bastards who will be drooling all over her.

It takes them what feels like hours to finally get both the girls enough swimsuits to please them. Ronon is carrying Elizabeth's bags with an intent look on his face, walking hand in hand with her as she and Teyla discuss wraps and sandals.

Rodney is just poking John in the side, fairly certain that they can make a run to the electronics store while no one is paying attention, frowning at a slight itch of _something_ across his hindbrain, when Elizabeth decides that they need swimming trunks. Rodney's protests that he doesn't swim are ignored, and they find themselves threatened with being dragged back around to half the stores they already visited, Elizabeth refusing to just let them grab a pair and leave.

He's not sure exactly why he and John are forced to try theirs on at different times, but Teyla is looking stern and tapping a foot, so Rodney doesn't argue. And, okay, actually watching John try on the different trunks isn't so bad. Comparatively.

Rodney has seen John shirtless, changing clothes and a time or two in the bathroom when he hadn't really meant to look, it had just sort of happened, what with the door being open and everything. But he's never had the time, or the excuse, to look for more than a half-second at a glance.

John's taller than him, still. Rodney has a feeling that the other boy will probably always have an inch or two on him. But Rodney's pretty sure that where his body is already starting to broaden out a little bit across the shoulders, John's really isn't.

It makes him look lanky, even taller with his narrow hips and long limbs. And he's hairy. Rodney figures that might be courtesy of the year John has on him, but maybe not. Ronon is John's age, and isn't particularly hairy either, no matter how many times he shaves the light hairs on his upper lip.

In any case, Rodney finds he's actually a little disappointed when Elizabeth and Teyla decide that they have found the perfect pair for John. Rodney can't actually remember what color the trunks were. He has, however, come very close to memorizing the exact patterns of the hair down the middle of John's chest and stomach.

That's about when they shove a pile of clothes into Rodney's arms and push him into the dressing room. And staring at John had probably been a mistake. Luckily, between thinking about Ellis and Kolya, Rodney manages to will away the problem before Teyla starts threatening to get John to break down the door.

Swim trunks are not a clothes item that Rodney has a lot of experience with. Neither are they complicated. He grabs a pair and steps into them, and opens the door without looking in the mirror, because he doesn't particularly care what they look like.

Teyla frowns at him, and then Elizabeth rolls her eyes and says, "Come on, shirts off," like he's committed some severe breach of etiquette.

Rodney crosses his arms, scowling at her when he replies, "Why? I'm going to wear it to the lake." And at their combined incredulous looks, "What? Have you seen me? I'm probably burning right now, just thinking about the sun." Now that he thinks about it, Elizabeth will probably burn as well. She's every bit as fair skinned as he is.

Teyla exchanges a look with Elizabeth, complete with raised eyebrows and amused smiles. Then Elizabeth waves a hand, grinning when she says, "That's what sunscreen is for." Rodney opens his mouth to protest and she raises a hand, expression going solemn and serious, "Don't worry. I'm sure that John will be a good friend and help you put it on your back."

Rodney tries to object again, but this time John interrupts, "Yes. I can do that. Whenever." Rodney looks at him, betrayed, but John just looks dazed and is blinking a lot. Rodney wonders if Teyla whammied him, and figures John can't really be blamed if she did.

Rodney singsongs, "Peer pressure," under his breath, but reluctantly takes the shirt off anyway, feeling skinny and pale and awkward. He crosses his arms again and glares at them, starting to actually worry about John, who has progressed to looking dazed with his mouth kind of hanging open.

Teyla claps, startling Rodney, and sounds overly gleeful when she declares, "They are perfect!" Rodney had thought they were just blue, but isn't about to argue the point.

The good part is that Rodney manages to escape after trying on only one thing. The bad part is, when they go to buy lunch, he ends up nearly hyperventilating, staring at the trays and smelling the burnt ozone flare of the stun weapons they'd used under the mountain, and that same itch of familiarity he can't quite place, right in the back of his skull.

John carries him outside. Ronon, ostensibly to be helpful, brings out their swim trunks.

* * *

Rodney throws most of his free time into working on the Charger. It gives him something useful to do with his hands, and keeps his mind busy. John helps, finally getting comfortable enough with what they're doing to take on little jobs of his own. Rodney misses having all his tools handed to him, sometimes.

Mostly though, he just enjoys himself. John's mom drags an old stereo out into the garage, and sometimes he catches John bobbing his head along with the beat, humming soft and out of tune. Between that and the car, which feels more and more like it should in his head everyday, the garage is quickly becoming Rodney's favorite place to be.

The familiar smell of oil and grease, the knowledge the John is right there, happy and healthy, the potential he can feel each time he touches the car, it all helps stabilize him. It's the one place he's never freaked out, and Rodney is aware he might be spending more time there than is strictly healthy.

John doesn't seem to mind, so Rodney doesn't think too much about it.

* * *

The first time they start the car up and it actually works, is right after they put the new tires on. John hadn't had any problem holding the car up as requested, but the tires are heavy and by the time Rodney is done wrestling them off and on, he's sweaty and tired.

And yet somehow, sitting on the bench seat, with a thick towel folded double to cushion the springs, listening to the engine rumble to life, is the best thing ever. It's loud in the contained space of the garage, a vibration that Rodney can feel in his bones, watching John stare at the steering wheel, awestruck and giddy.

The single key is hanging from the ignition, and Rodney momentarily wishes they had a key ring, just so he could make it swing.

John runs his palm up the curve of the steering wheel, which is still ratty and sun damaged. He exhales hard, but when he turns to face Rodney his express is calm and serious. He says, "Can we drive?" like that's the most important question he's ever asked.

Rodney runs through the list he's been keeping in his head of systems that they've worked on, what's finished. Brake lines, fuel injectors, piston housings. They've tested everything, and Rodney has made sure it would all move properly with his gift, over and over again those nights that he couldn't sleep. He grins, reaching out to grab John's hand to put it on the stick shift. All he can manage in reply is a nod.

John makes a delighted, crowing sound, beaming at Rodney before he abruptly sobers. When he puts the car into reverse, it stalls out, and Rodney laughs helplessly as John's ears stain red. John says, blushing, "Let's try that again," and this time they make it out of the garage.

For a moment they sit idling in the driveway, John grinning again, embarrassment already forgotten. Rodney stares at him, his heart beating double-time in his chest, his hand still over John's on the gearshift. The late afternoon sun is pounding down on the car, the air conditioner is not working, and the rumble of the engine is flooding in through the open windows.

John breathes, sounding awed, turning to look at Rodney, "Wow."

Rodney grins, biting his bottom lip and bouncing a little in place, thrilled that John is as happy about this as he is. "And you haven't even driven it yet!" John stares for a moment, and then nods, shifting around on the seat and rubbing the steering wheel again.

Rodney starts to scoot to the side, towards the passenger seat, and John startles, dropping a hand to Rodney knee, looking puzzled when he asks, "Where are you going?" Rodney stares down at John's hand on his leg for a long moment, feeling warmth rise in his chest, and then settles back against John's side, pulling the seatbelt out and hooking it with fingers that feel thick.

"Nowhere. You ready?" They're pressed close together, and Rodney has to shift a little sideways, hooking his left arm over the back of the seat for them to fit comfortably. John squeezes Rodney's knee, still smiling when he finally takes a deep breath and backs them out onto the road.

When John stalls the car again trying to get it in first, Rodney presses his mouth against the other boy's shoulder, laughing. John says, sounding more happy than indignant, "Come on, I've only driven a stick once before."

Rodney does his best to muffle his laughter, reaching his hand up to rub at the back of John's neck, absent apology that makes John startle and suck in a deep breath before going completely still. Rodney says, after a moment, "You're doing fine."

John's voice is oddly rough when he says, "Yeah."

* * *

They drive around, aimless and random, for close to two hours. They end up out at a state park that Rodney's never been to before, and John parks them on a hill. Rodney blinks, raising his head from John's shoulder, where he'd been half asleep, lulled by the movement of the car and the heat. He mumbles, "What's going on?"

John shifts in the seat, ducking his head when he says, "Nothing. I just thought you might want to, you know, stretch your legs some?" He's blushing again.

Rodney stretches, rubbing his eyes and nodding, "Sounds good." The door screeches loudly when Rodney opens it to crawl out, and it dips a little towards the ground. He'd already known it needed repaired, and closes it carefully, looking over the top of the car at John, who is stretching, arms extended up to the sky.

The dying sunlight shines off of him, and Rodney rests his hands on the hood of the car, staring. After a moment John looks at him, and then blinks, head cocking to the side. Rodney drops his gaze to stare at the ground instead, scuffing his toe against the gravel. When John touches his wrist, Rodney startles, blinking up at him.

John is smiling, shifting his grip so that he's holding Rodney's hand when he says softly, "Come on, let's walk."

All Rodney can do is nod, squeezing John's hand and letting the other boy pull him along.

The air is starting to cool down now, though it's still heavy and thick, not a sign of a breeze anywhere. In the shadows under the trees it's even moderately tolerable. Rodney leans against John, listening to the gravel under their feet, the faint birdcalls overhead.

It doesn't take Rodney long to get tired of listening, shifting and frowning a little, "What do you think that stuff on the windshield is? I think we should get Elizabeth to try to get it off. Cold is one of the most effective ways to get off sticky things, I think."

John laughs, bumping his shoulder into Rodney's and making them both sway. He says, "Or we could use a scraper."

Rodney frowns, thinking about that, and then shrugs. It might work.

* * *

By the time they make it back to the car, the sun is setting. Rodney pauses and looks across at the horizon, the sunset painting everything fiery red and orange. It looks so big, so huge, that it's hard for him to even grasp it.

"Rodney," John's voice makes Rodney blink, look back down to this Earth. The other boy is sitting on the hood of the car, knees pulled up, his arms resting across them. He has his head tilted to the side, watching Rodney instead of the sunset. He extends a hand towards Rodney, raising his eyebrows.

Rodney climbs onto the hood, the metal still hot from the residual heat of the sun and the engine. He pulls himself over to John, squirming around to get comfortable when the other boy pulls him down against the windshield. He looks to make sure he's not going to lie in the sticky spot before reclining, pillowing his head on John's shoulder, and humming happily.

The hood is not the most comfortable surface he's ever laid on. But John being there makes up for a lot. Rodney sighs, wrapping an arm around John's waist, watching the sun sink closer and closer to the horizon. He can just feel the slight pressure of John's fingers, trailing back and forth over his side.

And Rodney is surprised to find that his mind is quiet.

Here, like this, just him and John, is the best he can remember feeling, maybe ever. There's no one around to ask him for anything. There's no one here that is, or could potentially be, a threat. There's just John, his chest shifting them both just a little bit with each breath he takes, his arm curled around Rodney's back.

Rodney's chest feels tight, relief making him lightheaded. The sun is burning up the sky, and Rodney squeezes his eyes shut, hand fisting up in John's shirt without him even realizing it, his heart racing in his chest, impossibly fast.

John shifts up, just a little, voice concerned, "Hey, you okay?" He tries to tilt Rodney's chin up, fingers warm and familiar against Rodney's skin, but Rodney tucks his face against John's neck, feeling his skin burn with heat. "Rodney? Look, I didn't—we don't have to stay here, we can—"

"I like this." The words are just there, spoken before Rodney can decide if he should say them or not. He feels John go still, swallowing and continuing, "I like this a lot. We should do this again."

John relaxes, the tension draining out of his body even as he tightens his hold on Rodney. He's turned his face down, speaks against Rodney's hair, "We can. We can come out here every day if you want." And Rodney knows John means it, because John doesn't lie to him.

Rodney smiles, expression still hidden against John's skin, and says, "Yeah? I'd like that." He thinks it over for a moment, and then shifts up so he can look at John, "I think we should bring a blanket or something, next time. Maybe some kind of cushion? And, hey, you could make us sandwiches, right?"

John just grins at him, looking content, happy, and a little proud of himself when he says, "Whatever you want."

* * *

John is as good as his word. Late in the afternoon every day he goes to get the key to the car, bouncing it in his palm while raising his eyebrows in question. They get a thick quilt that takes up residence in the backseat of the car, and John's father buys them a picnic basket after laughing at the little plastic bags that they had been using to transport the food.

It takes Rodney some time to get the air conditioner working again, and eventually he just cheats and fixes it with his gift. It's getting murderously hot out and John's hair looks funny when it gets all tangled from driving with the windows down. Rodney does the same thing with the radio, just until they get something that doesn't play eight tracks, and then they can leave the doors open and listen to music while they eat or relax, the sun setting overhead.

Rodney thinks that, if the curfew wasn't still in place, he'd like to sleep out on the hood of the car, beneath the stars, curled up against John. Sometimes he thinks about just breaking it, staying out and damn anyone that has a problem with it, but John is bound and determined to get them home on time and won't budge on the issue.

So John makes sure that they make it back home before the stars even really come out, and Rodney pushes down another sharp flare of anger at the people that caused that. As though people like them didn't have enough problems before.

One night when they get home, John still humming the last song that was on the radio, they find John's parents sitting out on the front porch. Rodney feels a sting of ice across his shoulders, John going silent beside him, both of them hurrying up the steps.

John's mother is nursing a beer, still wearing her scrubs, her husband sitting beside her with an arm wrapped around her shoulders. They both jerk to their feet when Rodney and John step onto the porch, and Rodney finds himself being embraced by John's mother, and squeezed hard. He's noticed that the Sheppards do that a lot.

After a half second Mrs. Sheppard releases him, moving to grab John instead. Mr. Sheppard's attentions are more reserved, an arm around John's shoulder, a hand messing up Rodney's hair while Rodney demands, "What's wrong? What's going on?"

"We need to get you boys a cell phone," Mrs. Sheppard laughs, though she doesn't sound amused, taking another drink of her beer. Her husband brushes his hand against her shoulder and she sways into the touch, continuing in a lighter voice, "What park is it that you go to?"

Rodney frowns, and then looks at John, because he doesn't ever pay very much attention to the drive, preoccupied with listening to the sound of the engine and soaking in John's warmth. John is still staring back and forth between his parents, looking tense and worried when he finally answers, "Red Run, you know, up north of town?"

John's mother visibly sags, leaning into her husband, who says, "Thank God," and Rodney grabs John's hand. John squeezes, turning to look at him, pulling him closer, until they're pressed together.

Rodney opens his mouth to ask why they're thanking God, but John's mother answers before he can, "There was an...incident. Out at Cohen's Gap. You remember officer Helms? You know the camping trip they had planned at the lake? We thought... Well. I'm glad we were wrong." She still looks pale and worried, and Rodney reaches out to grab her hand as well, swallowing heavily before he can make himself talk.

"The G.E.N.I.I. attacked someone?" because he can remember officer Helms, lined up against a wall, waiting for a firing squad

For a moment, she just looks confused, and then she laughs, shaking her head. "No. No, it was some kind of camping accident." And the relief of that seems wrong, because obviously something bad happened. And yet, Rodney can't help but sighing heavily, leaning against John and feeling some of the tension and nerves ease in his gut.

* * *

The camping accident turns out to be not exactly something Rodney would have filed under 'accidental'.

A group of five friends had been camping, apparently perfectly sane people that really wanted to go without showers or real bathrooms for a couple of days. Rodney doesn't particularly understand that himself, but people do a lot of things he doesn't understand, and camping is one of the less destructive ones, so he doesn't judge.

They'd been camping three days, their families not expecting them back for an additional four, when Helms had wandered out of the woods. The man had scared the hell out of the people swimming in the lake, and caused a huge panic.

The panic was because Helms had been covered in blood, dripping with it, and screaming at the top of his lungs. The police had arrived, but not before he collapsed facedown on the sand, jerked around, and then died.

People at the scene said that Helms had been naked, face and arms covered in scratches under the blood. And that his throat had been ripped out, from his right ear down to his collarbone. The police reported it as an animal attack.

And then one of the older ladies that jogged around the lake every day had found the other four bodies.

She's all over the news by the time they finally go inside. The woman is obviously still upset, pale and looking ill. She keeps saying that the bodies were torn apart, over and over again, her eyes glazed over, until one of the EMTs comes over and wraps a blanket over her shoulders, leading her away.

Rodney stares at the screen, and then meets John's gaze. John has his lips pressed tight together, his hands balled up into fists. When he speaks, his voice is rough and tense, "It was just an animal."

And Rodney doesn't ask what kind of animal could rip four people limb from limb and tear the throat out of another. He doesn't want to know. And besides, that's what the cops are saying, as well. It doesn't make it true, but it does make it the truth that they have.

The next morning, John's parents insist on them getting a cell phone, no matter how many times John points out that they're perfectly capable of protecting themselves. All his mother says, mind already made up, is, "Well, we want to be able to know that the protecting went okay." And then, obviously trying to lighten the situation, "Aren't you supposed to want a cellphone?"

John shrugs, absently poking at the buttons on their new phone until Rodney reaches out and takes it away from him, "I never really thought about needing one." He looks at Rodney, and then down to the ground, and Rodney rolls his eyes, sliding the phone into his pocket, then frowning and concentrating to reshape it so it doesn't dig into his hip.

* * *

The next day, Teyla shows up in the middle of breakfast. She looks exhausted, and Rodney sends a burst of apology through their link, wincing. She rolls her eyes and hugs him, whispering into his ear, "That man will never touch you again." And he wants to believe her so badly, but can't quite manage it.

John is looking at them oddly when she pulls away, his expression sour, though he smoothes it out almost immediately. By the time he says, "Hey, let me make you a plate," he's smiling. Rodney blinks at him curiously, but John offers no explanation, and if Teyla knows, she doesn't share either.

She does raise her eyebrow at Rodney's deformed pancakes, their shape twisted and bumpy while all the others are perfectly round. Rodney shrugs, blushing, and blurts, "Hey, you want to go for a ride in the Charger?" before she can ask about them.

Teyla smiles at him knowingly anyway, and John sets down her plate a little harder than necessary when she says, "I would love to."

* * *

In the end, they pick up Ronon and Elizabeth as well. Rodney doesn't have the fondest memories of Elizabeth's house, but they don't have to go inside this time, just wait out on the curb for her. They have the quilt spread out on the back seat to prevent any spring accidents, and it's plenty big enough to handle three people.

Especially because Elizabeth is pretty much sitting on Ronon's lap, talking excitedly about the college she got accepted into. Rodney thinks John might still be a little weird about the college thing, because he's mostly silent, a little bit tense where Rodney is leaning against him.

John doesn't even protest when Rodney suggests turns. Teyla reaches forward from the back seat, gripping Rodney's shoulder and frowning, and all he can do is shrug. He has to know. Rodney is no good at all of letting things lie, even when he probably should. Especially when he probably should.

Elizabeth is still talking happily about the courses she wants to take in the fall when Rodney says, "Turn right," and John slams on the brakes beside the sign for Cohen's Gap State Park. For a moment the only sound in the car is the radio.

John turns to look at him slowly, asks, "Rodney?" with a tilt of his head to the side.

Rodney tilts his chin up, unable to cross his arms with his left draped over the back of the seat. "I just think we should look around. I mean. We have Ronon with us, he can smell around and make sure that it's not, you know, that it's not someone we—" He cuts himself off, looking out the windshield, biting at his bottom lip.

The touch of John's fingers against his cheek is a surprise, turning Rodney's face back. John looks serious, eyes dark and steady, "Hey, listen to me, okay? Kolya is never going to hurt you again. Not ever. But you're right. We should check this out. Just to make sure there's nothing we can do."

Rodney has to swallow hard, his throat tight. He manages a nod after a moment, and John brushes his thumb across Rodney's cheek. In the backseat everyone is suspiciously quiet, and Rodney turns to glare at them. They all look out the windows. Rodney has a feeling that Elizabeth is at any moment about to burst out whistling.

By the time John parks, no one has said a word. And then Elizabeth asks, as they're getting out of the car, "So, how are we supposed to find this place anyway?"

Rodney opens his mouth to explain that he'd been thinking of doing a grid search, and looking for the police tape. Ronon interrupts, head tipped up, eyes closed as he breathes deeply, "Can smell the blood. That way." He points east.

And well, that answers that.

* * *

The third time Rodney trips over a tree root he starts thinking that this might not really have been the best idea. John catches him before he can fall on his face, and Rodney smiles at him tightly. John offers, as Rodney kicks a rock, "I can carry you."

In front of them, Ronon makes a sound that is suspiciously cough-life. Rodney glares at the back of the taller boy's head, and tries not to blush. He mumbles, "I'm okay. Just clumsy." John hums, and leaves his hand resting against Rodney's lower back.

The undergrowth is thick, bushes and briars catching at their legs with each step. Ronon isn't bothering to follow a trail, just cutting straight towards the smell of the blood. Rodney is certain that he's going to be covered in poison by the time this is over, and also that he's probably about to step on a snake. He'd feel better if Carson was along, but the healer's parents still haven't relented in their protectiveness, even with the G.E.N.I.I. disbanded.

The heat isn't helping matters either. Elizabeth is the only one of them not sweating, little crystals of ice forming along the seams of her clothing and then melting, over and over again. It's fascinating to watch, and Rodney shakes his head, because he really needs to pay attention to where he's stepping.

Rodney is just opening his mouth to ask how much further it is, when Ronon goes still. The rest of them follow suit after crowding around him, though Rodney can't see a damn thing through the thick trees. John whispers after a moment, "What is it?"

Ronon blinks, shakes himself like he's coming out of a daze. And then he bends over at the waist, and throws up all over the little dead bush by his feet. Rodney shouts, "Holy shit!" and hears it echoed around the group, Elizabeth reaching out to support Ronon, the rest of them moving a second after her.

Elizabeth is saying, sounding half-hysterical, like Rodney has never heard her sound, "What's going on? Are you okay? Ronon, please talk to me," and Rodney wonders how much of the panic is from the fact that she had to watch Sumner die right in front of her. He doubts that's something you just get over.

After a long moment Ronon straightens, spitting and then wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. He looks a little ashen, like there's too much white around his eyes when he grunts out, "I'm fine. Just. Something smells...wrong, here. Bad. Very bad."

Rodney automatically raises his hand to cover his nose, and John pulls him a little closer. Teyla says, "Perhaps we should—"

And Rodney cuts her off, because he knows she's going to say the sensible thing, "Where does it smell wrong?" Teyla sighs, shaking her head just a little bit, and Rodney sends her another wave of apology. He can't stop pushing. He never learned how, and he doesn't care to start now.

Ronon spits again, nodding his head towards the line of trees in front of them, "Through there. Whatever it is, it's dead now. Can smell its death stink too."

John squeezes Rodney's hand, and Rodney looks up at him. Then John nods, and says, "You guys wait here," and they walk forward together. Branches catch at their arms, and one whips across Rodney's cheek, leaving a stinging scratch behind.

And then they step into the camp clearing. It's surrounded by police tape. There are still two tents in the circle, though they're really just destroyed lumps of canvas and metal pipes now. There's blood everywhere, soaking into the ground, splattered over the tents and trees and the one shredded sleeping bag.

Rodney croaks, "Oh, fuck," and John squeezes his hand tighter, making a soft grunting sound. All the bushes in the area are crushed down, and it looks like the camp fire might have gotten a little out of hand, if the char marks up the side of an old oak are anything to go by.

John says, after a long moment, "No human did this," voice thick and shaky.

Rodney nods, but then amends, "No normal human," because he's seen gifted people that could wreak this kind of destruction without batting an eye, that could easily shred the tents and tear people limb from limb. But it does seem slightly beyond the strength of anyone not a freak.

When John turns, pulling Rodney along, Rodney is grateful. He doesn't want to have to look at the campsite anymore, his stomach tense and aching. When they get back to the others, Elizabeth is still rubbing Ronon's back, frowning, worried.

Teyla looks up, dark eyes concerned, looking as though she's not sure if she should be hopeful or not, "Did you find anything?"

John shakes his head, and Rodney swallows around the bitter taste in his throat, asking Ronon, "You don't smell—I mean, just so we're clear, you don't smell—" and he doesn't understand why he can't say the name, why the tightness in his chest won't allow it.

Ronon knows anyway, looking up and staring at Rodney hard for a long moment before tilting his head to the side and saying, tone oddly careful, "He wasn't here."

And Rodney tells himself he should be relieved, but walking back to the car he can't quite manage it.

Once they're back at the Charger John looks around, frowning, and then asks, "Wait, this was the lake we were going to go swimming in? Because I don't know if that's such a great idea."

* * *

##### Missing Scene One:

Going to the lake is the best thing that's ever happened to John. Or the worst. He hasn't decided yet.

They get there early, before the sun really starts beating down, because Elizabeth insists that it's the only way to snag a patch of the actual sand. Rodney eyes the more-gray-than-golden stretch of beach skeptically, arms wrapped around the thick book he's holding, and John leans closer to the other boy to say, "If you don't want to—"

"It's fine." Rodney smiles, but it looks a little tight. John feels himself frown, but before he can say anything else Rodney is stomping across to where the others are already dropping their bags. Ronon is spreading a sheet out, securing the corners with shoes and the jug of water they brought along.

By the time John catches up, Rodney has his sandals kicked off, his book settled safely near the middle of the sheet. Rodney has his hands balled up at the hemline of his shirt, watching the others shuck their extra clothes. Teyla is twisting her hair up and back into a sloppy bun, Elizabeth smearing on sunscreen with assistance provided by a very intent Ronon, and John sets down their bag, tugging his own shirt over his head.

John nudges Rodney, still not moving, in the shoulder while palming their bottle of sunscreen, the highest SPF the store was selling. He says, "C'mon, I'll get your shoulders," and Rodney stares at him for a half second before sighing and making a face.

Still, the shirt comes off, Rodney balling it up and dropping it on top of their bag. Rodney isn't so thin as he was anymore, and John stares right up to the point where Rodney crosses his arms and awkwardly starts to shift around. Then John shakes himself and says, "Right," to no one in particular.

Ronon laughs, trying to cover it with a cough, and John spares a second to glare at the back of the other boy's head. Teyla is already down by the water's edge, stepping in with one foot and calling over her shoulder, "It is not that cold at all!"

Rodney chooses then to snag the sunscreen out of John's hands, squeezing an insane amount out and rubbing it over his chest. John blinks rapidly, biting his bottom lip hard, and forcing himself to move before he's further tempted to give into the urge to just tackle Rodney.

Rodney's shoulders are warm under John's hands when he manages to get himself to touch them. The sunscreen makes everything slick, and smells strongly of coconut. John swallows heavily, spreading it around, concentrating hard on what he's doing. He wouldn't want to miss a spot and have Rodney burn.

After a moment, John notices that Rodney has stopped moving, gone completely still under his hands. John pauses, his fingers brushing against the nape of Rodney's neck, his other thumb sliding back and forth against the dip of Rodney's spine. He asks, his voice weird and thick, "Rodney?"

"Hm?" Rodney sounds sleepy, and pushes back expectantly against John's hands. And John figures that he could pursue the sudden stillness, or he could keep touching Rodney. He shrugs, and slides his hand down the line of Rodney's back. He's run out of sunscreen, is just moving his hands over Rodney's slick skin. He doesn't ever really want to have to stop.

Experimentally, he slides his hands a little forward, fingers slipping across Rodney's ribs at his sides. Rodney sucks in a breath, head tilting forward, so the darker curls at the back of his neck are all John can see. John finds himself easing a little closer, flattening his palms on Rodney's sides, sliding down, his fingers curling against the sharp jut of Rodney's hips.

The fabric of Rodney's swim trunks is startlingly rough, and John shakes himself, blinking rapidly. He blurts, "Right. Um. Right. It's all—it's rubbed in," and steps back, feeling dizzy and shaken.

Rodney shakes his head, moving jerkily when he starts rubbing the sunscreen in his hands over his arms. Rodney keeps his head down when he says, "I—yes. Of course. Thanks." All John can do is not mutely, and then Rodney is stretching forward on the sheet, continuing, "I'm just going to, you know, read for a while. Go splash around."

John bobs his head again, attempting to casually hold his hands in front of his swim trunks when he hurries down to the water's edge. Luckily, Ronon is the only one of the others that seems to be paying him any attention, and John doubts that his present condition is exactly a surprise to the other boy to begin with.

Teyla lied. The water is almost freezing, but, really, right now that's probably for the best.

* * *

The water temperature isn't so bad once John gets used to it. Elizabeth runs back up to the blanket to get the Frisbee she'd brought along, and they end up throwing it back and forth in chest deep water while the lake gradually fills up with other people.

John keeps most of his attention on Rodney, making sure no one comes too close to him, and gets smacked in the head with the Frisbee enough times that it has to be intentional. Ronon isn't even trying to hide his grin when John glares at him.

For his part, Rodney seems absorbed in his book, ignoring the increasing bustle around him. The only time Rodney looks up it's to glare at the screaming toddler a few blankets away. Luckily, the kid's parents take it up to the concession stand a few minutes later, and John relaxes again.

John asks Teyla, in a break between Frisbees, "How long does that stuff last? Before you have to reapply it?"

For a half-second, Teyla just stares at him. And then she smiles, looking far too impish for John's comfort. She splashes him in the face, saying as he sputters, "Several hours at least. Perhaps you should see if he will join us for a while?"

John hesitates, but only for a minute. It can't actually hurt anything to ask Rodney. Best case scenario, Rodney will join them, and even if he doesn't, it means that John will get a break from being hit in the head. It's starting to get annoying.

Rodney looks up when John flops down on the sand beside him, not wanting to get the sheet wet. Rodney's curled up around his book, and blinks at John before smiling, marking the page with his finger. John grins back, ignoring the burst of warmth that comes from Rodney focusing on him.

John manages to say, after a moment, "You want to come in for awhile? It's warmed up some," though still not a lot.

At first John thinks Rodney is going to say no, but then he turns the book over, pushing up, saying, "Sure, of course, yes. Why does Ronon keep hitting you with the Frisbee?" And John makes a face, shrugging, following Rodney back down to the water.

* * *

The Frisbee game doesn't last very long once Rodney joins them. The first time Ronon nails John in the temple, Rodney snatches the toy and throw it out across the lake, past the swimming area. For a half second, John even thinks the situation might come to blows, Rodney going tense and angry, glaring hard at Ronon.

Then Ronon raises one hand, sliding back a step, and Rodney nods, grabbing John's hand under the water and threading their fingers together. John isn't sure if he should like Rodney's oddly protective streak as much as he does, but he can't help it. He squeezes Rodney's hand, and Rodney turns to smile at him, wide and happy.

After that, Teyla attempts to teach them all how to properly do the dead man's float, and, for the most part, they all fail miserably. John sinks like a stone every time he tries, not sure if it's something in his body chemistry causing the problem, or if he just can't hold his breath properly. And, if he reacts rather badly to seeing Rodney floating face down in the water, no one says a thing when he grabs the other boy and pulls him up.

Teyla actually looks guilty, and John wonders what's showing on his face, trying to slow his heart rate back down, reassuring himself that Rodney is breathing and that everything is fine.

And that's when they all seem to remember that John is stronger than average. He spends the next hour throwing them, one after another, out across the water. They all laugh delightedly, and Rodney doesn't ask to be thrown, instead floating beside John on his back, eyes closed, expression peaceful.

* * *

They slog their way out of the water for lunch. Ronon had insisted on being left in charge of food duties, though John had packed extra for he and Rodney, just in case. He hadn't really been prepared for Ronon to lay out a whole spread.

There are sandwiches, fruit salad, cole slaw, chips, and baked beans in an insulated container. John boggles down at all the food, while Rodney asks, "Your mom made all this?" sounding surprised and a little awed. John feels his spine stiffen, something low and bitter filling up his gut.

It worsens when Ronon shakes his head, handing out plates, "I did. I like cooking."

John glares at the other boy, and then catches himself. They all fill up their plates, settling back on the sand, John feeling uncomfortably irritated, though he isn't quite sure why. He's poking at his food when Rodney takes a happy bite of his sandwich and says, "John's a great cook. He makes me cookies."

For a moment no one says a word, Elizabeth ducking her head and, John is sure, grinning behind her hand. Ronon and Teyla keep straight faces, and John can feel the tips of his ears staining red, while at the same time some of his upset fades to pleasure.

Rodney continues, swallowing, "And he makes the best pancakes. And macaroni and cheese. And the," Rodney gestures with his sandwich, eyes distant, "the hamburgers? So good," he makes a pleased little sound, and John feels himself grinning like an idiot. He scoots a little closer to Rodney, until their thighs are all pressed together.

Rodney says, "Here, try this," and picks up a deviled egg, raising it to John's mouth. John opens his lips automatically, feeling Rodney's thumb brush against the corner of his mouth. John doesn't even taste the food, nodding mutely when Rodney asks if it was good a half-second later.

John spends the rest of the meal in a pleasant daze, especially when he decides that Rodney feeding him means it's perfectly alright for him to feed Rodney back. He might go slightly overboard with all the fruit salad, but Rodney doesn't complain, and John doesn't mind the stickiness on his fingers at all.

The others all wander off down the beach after awhile, but John barely notices them go. The food is mostly gone, and John leans back beside Rodney, the warmth of the sun beating down on him and his full stomach making him feel drowsy.

Apparently it's having the same effect on Rodney, because he tugs at John's arm, forcing John to recline all the way on the sheet and then sprawling out beside him. A half second later Rodney is pillowing his head on John's shoulder, making a soft grumbling sound, and then looping an arm over John's chest.

John spares a thought to worry about how this is almost certainly going to result with him being tanned different colors, and then decides he doesn't care. He presses his own hand over the small of Rodney's back. Rodney's skin is warm, soft, and the boy hums, squeezing John just a little and then relaxing against him.

John has just enough presence of mind to grope around for one of the stray towels, and balls it up over his lap in the hopes of not traumatizing any of their fellow beach patrons with his hard-on. And then he closes his eyes, and sinks down into a light sleep.

* * *

John wakes up to Rodney poking him in the shoulder, saying, "Wake up, I need you to get my back."

John's mind feels thick and slow, but he manages to sit up anyway, blinking the last vestiges of sleep away while Rodney pushes the sunscreen tube into his hands. John manages to get it open and squeeze out a bunch into his palm on autopilot, and Rodney hums approvingly, rolling over onto his stomach.

Rodney's shoulders are already darker than they had been, even with the judicious application of sunscreen. There are, in fact, tiny little freckles spreading across the other boy's pale skin. John brushes his thumb over a cluster by Rodney's neck, and Rodney shivers.

John blinks, swallowing heavily and spreading it around. Rodney's skin is very, very warm. John finds himself stroking up and down Rodney's spine, the other boy's head pillowed on his arms. Rodney might be asleep again, John isn't sure, and can't quite make himself focus enough to ask.

There's something insanely fascinating about the way his skin contrasts with Rodney's. He's darker than Rodney, and Rodney's skin is so, so soft. John braces his free hand by Rodney's ribs, watching the slow slide of his fingers up and down Rodney's spine, breath hitching when his fingers brush against the waistband of Rodney's swim trunks.

Rodney makes a little questioning sound, shifting back and forth, and John realizes he'd paused. He starts stroking again without even thinking about it, and Rodney resettles with a pleased hum.

John does not in any way intend to slide his fingers just a little lower the next pass. It's completely accidental. He swallows heavily, watching the way just the tip of his little finger disappears beneath the light blue trunks. He curls his finger up, rubbing across Rodney's skin, letting out a shuddery little breath.

It's easy to repeat the slow movement, over and over again. He thinks they should probably do this a lot, as often as possible, and starts trying to come up with excuses to convince Rodney to let him do this at home. Maybe offering backrubs would work.

There's movement above them, and John looks up, still feeling mostly distracted and focused on Rodney. A woman he doesn't recognize is standing above them, leaning over, her arms crossed tight beneath her impressive bosom when she says, smiling, "There are children here, you should both be ashamed of yourselves."

For a moment all John can do is frown, trying to make sense of her expression coupled with the iciness in her voice. It jars him out of the almost giddy good mood he'd been in, and he stills his hand low on Rodney's back, scowling up at her, "What?"

The woman just shakes her head, straightening and walking away with a flick of her hair over her shoulder. Rodney pushes up onto one elbow, eyes sharp as his tone when he asks, "What was that about?" John shrugs, rubbing his thumb back and forth absently. Rodney frowns for another long moment and then slumps down, mumbling, "If you want to go back to the water you can. I, um, I might be a few minutes."

John swallows heavily, staring down at the bunched up towel. His voice comes out tight, "Yeah. I might. In a while." And he starts concentrating on thinking un-sexy thoughts.

A few minutes later, Rodney raises his head again, looking thoughtful when he says, "Where the hell did everyone else get to, anyway?"

And that is, of course, when the screaming starts.

* * *

The concession stand building is burning. Thick black smoke is pouring out of the doors and windows of the building. People are stumbling out, one woman on fire, screeching as she runs wildly across the sand, throwing herself into the water as John and Rodney run up.

The heat is insane, and John grabs Rodney's arm when the other boy tries to run even closer. Rodney's expression is twisted up in concentration, darkening with frustration when he gasps and sags down, panting, "I can't, there's nothing for me to do."

And then someone screams from inside the building, and John shakes Rodney hard, staring down into the boy's wide blue eyes and shouting, "Stay here!" Rodney yells for him when John starts for the building, so John runs faster, automatically raising his arms over his face when he steps through the blazing door.

Flames dance across John's skin, but don't do anything. The smoke is so thick he can barely see anything, he bats at it uselessly, trying to follow the panicked shouts he can hear from further inside. Everything is melting and burning all around him, including his swim trunks, which he pulls away from his skin, trying not to think about how he is now naked.

There are two people hiding in the tiny walk-in freezer in the back of the building. One of them is already burned, curled up on their side, the second trying to help them while sobbing. They're both kids. John looks at them, looks at the flames everywhere, and curses, because he doesn't know that he can carry them through this without catching them inadvertently on fire.

The uninjured kid, a girl with soot smeared all over her face, looks up then. Her eyes go wide, a sob choking off in the back of her throat, and John draws up his shoulders. He can't just leave them here. He says, pulling the freezer door completely out of the way, "I'm going to get you out," and he must sound more sure than he feels, because the girl nods shakily, tears streaking down her cheeks.

John swallows heavily, kneeling beside the injured boy. The boy's skin is blackened up his neck and across one cheek. Thankfully, the kid also appears to be unconscious. John sucks in a deep breath, in the process of pulling the boy over his shoulder when he pauses, staring at the back wall of the freezer. There's an idea jumping up and down and shouting for attention in the back of his head.

John turns his head to look at the girl, demanding, "Where does that wall go?"

For a moment he thinks she won't answer, but then she blurts, "Outside, I think? By the bathrooms maybe?" And that's good enough. John settles the boy back on the ground, crossing to the back in two steps, yanking the shelving away, ignoring the food that bounces off of his feet, slamming his shoulder into the wall.

It bows out. John grits his teeth, turning to get a running start this time. The girl is watching him with huge eyes, her mouth hanging up, and John flashes her a sharp grin. He hits the wall with everything he has, and then punches the thinnest point of impact. His fist goes through to open air.

John laughs a little, widening the hole, grabbing the metal and yanking. It bends and warps and then it's big enough. John turns, yells at the girl, "Go!" and scrambles back to grab the boy. The girl is already out, coughing on the sand, by the time John manages to carry the boy through.

People are running up, and John hears himself yelling for a doctor, for Rodney without even thinking about it. And just like that, Rodney is there, hitting John and yelling, "Holy fuck!" Rodney is wild eyed, and John wraps his arms around the other boy, holding him close for a long moment before remembering that he's naked, and wow, this is about to end really badly.

Thankfully, the others choose then to run up, Teyla carrying a towel, Elizabeth raising her hands, the temperature plunging. John sits down when Teyla thrusts the towel at him, wrapping it around his waist and watching Elizabeth do what she can for the fire.

Mostly all John is aware of is the way Rodney is still trying to wrap around him. One of Rodney's arms is around John's neck, and John says, "It's okay," blood pounding with adrenaline as he pats at Rodney's arms and shoulders. "I'm fine." Rodney nods, quick and jerky, but doesn't relax his grip at all.

That's for the best, because John really doesn't want him to let go.

* * *

##### Part Two

For months after the time Rodney spent under the mountain, all he had were nightmares. He'd always been a little too imaginative for his own good, and, provided with that much fodder, his mind had went on a field day with dreams that left him choking on his own breath and panicked.

In a way, it had been a good thing.

Rodney wakes up slowly, feeling warm and content. It's cloudy outside, or else just really early, because the room is still gray. Rodney doesn't mind. He hums, shifting around, pressing back against John, and only realizing then that he's not dreaming anymore. The pillow that John stuffs between them when he sleeps, because if not he overheats, had definitely not been there in Rodney's dream.

Rodney feels himself blush, relieved that John is apparently still asleep, snoring softly, his breath brushing across the side of Rodney's neck. The nightmares are plenty bad, but they're better than the dreams that Rodney is sure would put an abrupt and final end to his friendship with John.

He's tried to stop having them, but his mind is insistent and shows no sign of letting up. The images are all jumbled together now, but Rodney doesn't have to be able to play them in order to know what they were, to remember the fierce swell of want beating through his entire body, to remember his fingers tangled in John's hair and John's mouth—

And this isn't something he should be thinking about. It's bad enough that he imagines it while he sleeps. John deserves better than a friend that has dirty dreams about him. Rodney frowns, biting at his bottom lip and willing away the dreams, the thoughts and, more than anything, his body's physical reaction to both.

John grumbles something in his sleep, stretching briefly, his hand flattening on Rodney's stomach and sliding down with the movement. John re-settles with a huff, leaving his hand where it is, his fingers shoved right up against and partially over the waistband of Rodney's boxers.

Rodney freezes, body locking up tense and tight. He's staring at the wall, but not really seeing it, panic making his blood burn in his veins, getting his heart pumping way too fast. John's breath is hot and moist against his neck, John's hand is way, way, too close to an unpleasant discovery, and Rodney only realizes he's dangerously close to hyperventilating when he actually does.

On the plus side, the sheer terror takes care of his erection. Unfortunately, it also wakes up John, who grunts and shifts up, rolling Rodney onto his back, pulling his shoulders a little up off the bed and soothing, "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm right here, you're okay."

Rodney shakes his head, gasping desperately at the air, and John is rubbing his back, continuing, "Deep and slow, okay? Deep and slow, it's fine, it was just a dream." Rodney laughs, hitching and unsteady. John just shushes him, pulling Rodney closer, curling around him, continuing, "Was it—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Rodney manages not to stutter his way through the words, gripping at John's back and shoulders even though he knows he shouldn't. John just nods, running his fingers back through Rodney's hair, rocking them both gently back and forth. Rodney squeezes his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip, and feels like an asshole.

The nightmares are definitely better than this.

* * *

When Teyla calls, the first thing she says, voice hard and tense, leaving no room for argument of any kind, is, "Carson's parents are going away this weekend. You are helping me get him out of that house."

Rodney blinks, waving his hand when John raises an eyebrow from the stove. John goes back to frying the eggs with a shrug. Rodney adjusts the phone, letting it stand on his shoulder while he grabs the milk, saying, "Good morning to you too. Of course we'll help."

"You will. I do not even want to discuss the state I woke in this morning." Some of the iron has eased out of Teyla's voice, giving way to amusement and a bit of pity. Rodney feels himself flush, hurrying over to the table and sinking down into his chair to watch John cook. She says, after a moment, "It is nothing to be ashamed of, Rodney."

Rodney frowns, biting his tongue against pointing out that she could just as easily be using Carson as her anchor point and not having to deal with his stupid brain. He doesn't know why she hasn't, but after everything Teyla has done for him, it doesn't feel right to not let her do as she wishes.

He manages, while John curses over popping one of the yolks, "Yes, well, if there's nothing else?"

Teyla sighs, "Rodney—"

"Then we'll see you this weekend," and he hangs up, scowling down at the phone. He hopes that when his dreams bleed through into her head she only gets the gist of them, because he doesn't like the idea of her being able to see John the way Rodney imagines him.

John asks, "Everything okay?" He's frowning at the frying pan, hair wet and spiky from his shower. Rodney winces when John reaches into the pan to flip a sausage link with his fingers, even knowing that it's not going to hurt him. When Rodney doesn't answer right away, John looks up, blinking and looking concerned.

Rodney shrugs, forcing a smile, "Everything is great." And then, because he shouldn't have to be the only one that has to deal with it, "Teyla wants us to help her get laid this weekend." John chokes, coughing into his hand and Rodney springs out of the chair, hurrying across to him and rubbing his shoulders.

* * *

Breaking Carson out itself isn't particularly difficult. All Carson has to do is walk out the front door. But, his parents are likely to call at least a dozen times according to Carson, and will most likely hop on a plane and head right back if he doesn't answer immediately.

It takes Rodney a few minutes to get the home phone set up to ring through to Carson's cell. It's easier to erase their presence from the security cameras. Teyla and Carson spend the entire time whispering softly to each other and standing entirely too closely for Rodney's comfort. John's too, if his expression is anything to go by.

And then they're home free. Rodney pokes John in the shoulder, and they leave the house with as little fanfare as they arrived. Carson looks across at them as they cross the yard, his cheeks still crimson, mouth reddened with Teyla's lip gloss when he asks, "So, where are we dropping you two off then?" Rodney thinks it the other boy were any more excited he'd be vibrating in place.

Rodney rolls his eyes, gesturing past Teyla's car to the Charger. It's starting to look good now, to match the way it drives. With all the rust spots patched up, the windows all in their proper place, and the body sprayed gray in anticipation of the paint job, it looks gorgeous, if he does say so himself.

John says, "You kids have fun now," grinning, pulling Rodney by the wrist towards the Charger. Carson nods hurriedly, and then Teyla is pulling him down, kissing him again and Rodney rolls his eyes, crawling into the front seat and waiting for John. They still really need to finish with the interior, but John had wanted the outside to look sharp, and Rodney had humored him. He has to admit that it's nice to not be driving around in a car that's four different colors, but the springs poking him in the ass have got to go.

"Think they'll even make it into the car?" John asks while sliding into his seat. He's grinning, no sting to the words, and Rodney snickers into his hand. Teyla and Carson are leaning against the hood of her car now, all over each other and Rodney looks away abruptly, feeling the undercurrent of her want, feeling himself blush.

"Maybe you should leave before we're scarred for life?" And before the whole scenario gives Rodney's brain anymore ideas that it really doesn't need. He's not sure how he's supposed to be able to sprawl out across the hood with John if he keeps imagining doing that with him.

John clears his throat, "Right, yes," and then they're pulling out, John laying on the horn as they pass Teyla and Carson, who are, it appears, intent on moving even faster. Rodney pointedly does not look in the rear view mirror as they speed away.

* * *

They're almost to the park when John says, while they're idling at a light, "So. Carson and Teyla."

Rodney looks across at him, but John is staring out the windshield with a tight look, giving nothing away. Rodney shifts around, frowning, "Yeah. They're not exactly a new thing, John." Because Teyla had never been shy or hesitant about a damn thing since Rodney had known her, and she certainly hadn't been with Carson.

John makes a face, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger and tracing the curve of the steering wheel, "No, I know that. I just mean, you know. He's, I don't know, we know he's telling the truth about being stuck at home, right?"

Rodney can't help smiling, leaning his cheek against John's shoulder. It's sweet when John gets protective. He says, "I don't think he's lying. You see how he looks at her. And he's a good guy." John hums, the light changing, just in time for the next one to turn red. Rodney momentarily thinks about changing it, but then decides that might cause some serious problems. Instead he continues, "Besides, he knows we'll kick his ass if he hurts her."

That gets a laugh from John, and he drops his hand off the gearshift while they idle at the light, squeezing Rodney's knee. His thumb rubs back and forth against the denim, and Rodney thinks that maybe he should wear shorts, wonders if John would do the same thing if it was his skin and startles when the car behind them honks when the light turns green.

John sighs, "You're right. I just." He waves a hand, stopping at the next light, "I just worry. She likes him a lot." And Rodney nods, and then blinks when someone shouts at them from the car stopped in the left hand lane.

John startles, turning to look, Rodney lifting his head and blinking across at the three girls half-hanging out of their tiny convertible. Rodney doesn't recognize them from school, which doesn't mean much, because he can't say that he's ever paid very much attention to the other students.

Their shouting is indistinct, and John rolls the window down after a moment, frowning and looking confused. The girl in the back of the other car throws her hands up, collapsing sideways with a burst of laughter. Rodney stares at them, not sure what to make of them.

The one in the passenger seat, wearing a bikini top, her arms folded across the door, shouts, "That's a nice car!" Her friends both wave, and when they drive to the next light none of them sit down. Or keep their eyes on the road. Rodney frowns at them, and shifts a little closer to John, which isn't easy considering how close they already were.

The girls all turn to look at one another for a moment, laughing and then the one in the passenger seat leans out of the car again, gesturing with her phone when she shouts, "What's your number?"

The lanes in town are narrow. They're close enough that the girls have to be able to look right into the car, and Rodney finds himself scowling, something hard and sour in his stomach. John just looks confused, turning his head to look at Rodney, mouth opening around a question.

Rodney is busy. He unbuckles his seat belt, leaning across John, one hand braced on John's thigh for balance, and yells back, "You should call a mechanic instead!" and when the light turns green he salutes with one finger, guiding the Charger forward while smoke pours out of the convertible's engine.

Smirking, Rodney shifts back to sit down, finds John staring at him with huge eyes, mouth hanging open just a little bit. Rodney flushes, jerking his hand off of John's leg and mumbles, "Their fuel pump was in the process of breaking anyway, I just gave it a nudge."

And then John is grinning, shaking his head and laughing, like he doesn't mind that Rodney just ruined his chances with three hot girls. Rodney feels something in his chest ease, dropping his head back down to John's shoulder, and, after a moment's hesitation, wrapping his arm around John's waist. John doesn't seem to mind that, either.

It's not fair, to try to keep other people from having John, but he can't stop himself. John is his.

* * *

The next time they see Teyla she is in a substantially better mood, and Rodney tries really hard not to be jealous. His impossible, hopeless crush is in no way her fault, and, honestly, he is happy for her. He'd just like to be happy for himself, as well.

She and Elizabeth are softly talking as they walk back from the graveyard. Rodney isn't sure which one of them decided to start leaving flowers on Aiden and Sumner's graves. He's fairly sure it was Elizabeth's idea. He wonders if it makes Ronon jealous, but the boy doesn't ever seem bothered by the daisies that Elizabeth leaves by the headstones.

Rodney still feels cold every time they go by the cemetery, even in the thick, stifling heat of summer. He leans into John, arms crossed, John's arm around his shoulders. Ronon is walking a step in front of them, head turning slowly from side to side, taking in all the sensory information around them.

Rodney is pretty sure they make a weird procession, but he doesn't really care.

John sighs when they walk past one of the normal middle schools, his tone going soft and wistful when he says, "I miss baseball."

For a moment no one replies. Rodney stares at him, head cocked to the side, because John hadn't mentioned that particular habit before, and then Teyla is turning around, blinking when she says, "I can get free tickets to see the local team." And when everyone stares at her, she shrugs, "My uncle is one of the announcers."

And Rodney wants to protest, because the last thing he wants to do is go watch a bunch of guys swing around pieces of wood and run around for no good reason. But John is smiling huge, bouncing up onto the balls of his feet and enthusing, "Really? Wait, there's a local team? What's the schedule?"

Rodney sighs, and resigns himself to uncomfortable seats, drunken crowds, and what he's sure will be a suitably traumatizing mascot.

* * *

It's just as well that Teyla gets free tickets, because they can only stay for the whole game when it's a matinee. The goddamn curfew is getting more and more annoying, especially when it means that Rodney has to watch John sigh sadly every time they leave in the middle of a game.

Rodney can't muster any real enthusiasm for the sport himself, but John follows the game with an intensity that's a little frightening, and cheers in a way that Rodney feels sure is unnecessarily loud. He doesn't really mind, laughing and cheering himself, glad to see John relaxing and happy. Even if it is over the most ridiculous game ever.

Ronon's mother comes to a lot of the games, which is a little awkward at first. Rodney likes her, but he has no idea how to act around her. He barely even knows how to act around John's parents half the time, and he doesn't know her nearly as well.

Still, when Ronon explains that she gets nervous when he's around a large crowd, it's not like they can complain about her sitting with them. Rodney figures she can't be blamed, and John buys her hotdogs and nachos every game, smiling at her and then hugging Rodney hard. Rodney doesn't exactly understand why the two things seem to be connected, but it's not hurting anything, so he lets John continue.

Besides, John doesn't complain when Rodney manages to always be in the bathroom during the pledge of allegiance. Rodney isn't entirely sure how his citizenship is worked out at the moment, but the tight ball of anger in his chest won't let him just stand there and listen. John doesn't say a thing, just tags along, and doesn't comment when Rodney spends the entire time washing his hands.

Rodney manages a tight smile when they go back to their seats, leaning back against John's hand, resting against his lower back. The players are already in their places, the first batter shifting his weight around as the pitcher stares him down from the mound. John says, as they climb the bleachers to their seats, "I'm going to catch a ball one of these days."

Rodney just rolls his eyes, grinning honestly now, teasing, "Sure. And then you can get Bozo to sign it."

John pinches him in the side, making a face, "That's not funny." Rodney laughs. He's still not entirely sure what John's issue with the clown mascot is. John refuses to talk about it, and for the most part they sit high enough in the bleachers that they're ignored by the wandering clown.

"It's a little funny," Rodney steps over Ronon's legs, nodding at Ms. Dex, and sighing when he sits down on the hard seat. John is still frowning when he sits down, and Rodney bumps their shoulders together, promising, "I'll protect you from the big bad clown, okay?"

John snorts, but he's smiling, leaning into Rodney's touch, and grumbling, "You better."

And that's when the batter foul-tips a ball and Rodney has time to hear the shouting before Ronon's mom goes over backwards, cursing loudly.

* * *

Ronon's mom is fine, though the skin around her eye swells up almost immediately. Elizabeth makes her an ice block, and Ronon peels his shirt off to wrap it in. She spends the entire time protesting that she's just fine, and trying to wave them all away. Ronon ignores her protests, pulling her to her feet and dragging her off to the first aid station, Elizabeth hurrying after them.

Teyla retrieves the stray baseball, bouncing it in her hand and frowning. Rodney's heart rate is just staring to slow down, and he shoves John in the shoulder, shaking a little when he snaps, "No catching balls for you, okay? Don't even think about it."

John catches Rodney's wrist, squeezing softly when he says, "Hey, Rodney, it's not—"

Rodney cuts him off, shaking his head, "No. I'm not joking." He knows, logically, that being hit by the tiny thing wouldn't hurt John in any way. But knowing it and believing it are two different things, and Rodney feels sick, sitting down heavily and trying to breathe steadily.

After a moment John sits down beside him, rubbing a hand up and down Rodney's back and promising, "Okay, okay, I'll just buy one if I want one, okay?" And Rodney manages a jerky nod, rocking back against John's hand, rubbing a hand up over his face. He knows he shouldn't freak out about things like this. Normal people don't freak out about things like this. That's not getting rid of the cold lump of dread beneath his ribs.

"Nothing can happen to you," Rodney hadn't meant to blurt that, but it comes out anyway. He looks up, meeting John's gaze, trying to make sure he understands. Which doesn't even make sense, because Rodney isn't sure he understands himself.

John is nodding, though, sliding his hand up and cupping the back of Rodney's neck, "Nothing will. To you either, okay?" Rodney nods back, reaching up and grabbing John's arm, just holding on until Teyla sits down on his other side, still turning the ball over and over in her hands.

One of the people in front of them twists around, almost sloshing his beer over Teyla's shoes when he demands, "Hey, let me see that."

Rodney glares at him, snapping automatically, "What's the magic word?" and feeling John laugh beside him. The man blinks at him, expression going from surprised to irritated in seconds, and Rodney just stares back. He's seen worse, and something about the man irritates him, though Rodney can't quite put his finger on what it is. The man is...more...than he should be.

Then the man is standing, setting down his beer and leaning forward, "I wasn't talking to you." He looks back to Teyla, motioning impatiently for the baseball with one large hand. Teyla makes a face, pulling it closer and shifting back in her seat.

Her voice is calm and soft when she says, "I am holding it for a friend, and you do not intend to return it."

The man makes a scornful, impatient sound, stepping up over his seat, reaching for Teyla. Rodney hears John growl, pushes Teyla sideways, and looks up in time to watch John grab and squeeze the man's wrist. The man gasps, trying to jerk away, and John scowls down at him, tone sharp, "Go find someone else to bother," and releases him.

The man pulls his arm close to his chest, rubbing the reddened skin at his wrist and staring at John with narrowed eyes. When no one moves for a long moment, John takes a step sideways, putting himself in front of Teyla and Rodney, hands balled up into fists.

After a long moment the man snorts, turns around and sits down. John keeps glaring at the back of his head, and Rodney finally reaches out, tugging on the back of John's shirt and saying, "Hey, it's okay." John is tense, but nods jerkily, exhaling and turning to smile at Rodney, shaking his head when he sits down.

John says, "At this rate we're going to miss the whole game."

Rodney opens his mouth to point out that that's not exactly a bad thing, all said and done, and the man in front of them leans over to grumble to one of his buddies, "Can't even go to a ball game without running into those freaks."

Teyla sucks in a breath, resting a hand on Rodney's shoulder, saying, "We don't need to—"

But Rodney isn't really listening, because goddamnit, but John likes these stupid games. He's happy and relaxed while they're here, and Rodney isn't going to just sit still and listen to some asshole with a weird magnetic field ruin the whole thing. Rodney jerks to his feet, reaching forward to knock the man's baseball cap off.

The man stands slowly, turning to face them with his expression gone dark and furious. Rodney crosses his arms and glares at him, absently noting the cellphone hanging from the man's belt, the lighter in his pocket, the watch on his wrist, the automatic lock-unlock mechanism for his car hanging from his key ring.

Rodney tilts his chin up, smirking, "You were saying something?" John is standing beside him, and Rodney can feel the other boy's fingers curling into the waistband of his pants. Teyla is a rising on his other side, and she might have been trying to diffuse the situation, but the brush of her thoughts against his is every bit as full of anger as Rodney's feel.

Around the man, his friends stand, big and angry and probably drunk. Rodney almost feels sorry for them.

And then Elizabeth is saying, from the steps, her arms crossed and the air temperature dropping all around them, "Is there a problem here?" Ronon is standing at her shoulder, looking tense and agitated. Rodney doesn't see the other boy's mother.

The big man turns to sneer at Elizabeth, voice sharp, "And who the hell are you?"

Elizabeth sighs, raising one eyebrow, disappointment as well as dripping off of her expression, "I'm someone who'd really like to watch the rest of the ballgame, just like you. Now, how about we all take a deep breath, and just relax. Your beer is getting warm."

Rodney opens his mouth to protest, because these assholes deserve a beating, and there is something wrong with the one, even if he can't quite tell what it is. John grabs his hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing. Rodney turns to look at him, blinking in surprise, and John shrugs, offering as explanation, "I really do just want to watch the game, Rodney."

For a moment no one moves, and then Elizabeth primly sits down, crossing her legs and staring pointedly down at the field. The men exchange looks before settling back down, grumbling indistinctly. Rodney glares at the back of their heads, but retakes his seat.

John sits beside him, nudging him in the shoulder, still holding Rodney's hand, "Not that I'm not flattered by your defense of my honor." When Rodney turns to look at him, John is grinning, expression happy and teasing.

Rodney rolls his eyes, shoving back, "Oh, shut up."

And then Teyla is asking what happened to Ronon's mother, and handing over the baseball. Rodney feels himself relax. John holds his hand for the rest of the game. It's nice, and Rodney hates it even more when they have to get up and leave to go home.

* * *

John's parents come with them to a day game, on a Saturday after John's mother takes one look at her husband and decides that he needs to relax. Rodney thinks she's right, when he takes a moment to look at the man. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his mouth is thin and tight. Rodney starts praying that whatever has gone wrong isn't his fault.

The game is almost over, the home team winning for once, when Mr. Sheppard takes a deep breath and Rodney braces himself. The nerves that he's been wrestling with the whole day crawl up his throat, and he balls his hands up in his lap, barely hearing John's loud cheers on his other side.

He's known this was too good to last, right from the very beginning.

Mr. Sheppard says, turning towards Rodney, resting a hand on his shoulder, and Rodney has to concentrate not to flinch, "I hate to ask you this, but you stand the best chance of knowing. When you were...in that place, did you know what the other children could do?"

Rodney blinks, and then blinks again. There's not a lot of John in his father, except for the eyes and around the jaw line. But he's always been a nice man, and now he looks stressed out, sick with himself. And not at all like he's about to tell Rodney to leave and never come back.

Rodney lets out a ragged breath, sucking in air desperately and trying to push back the dizziness. He hadn't meant to hold his breath, hadn't really realized he'd been panicking. Now his heart is banging up against his ribs and he braces his hands on his knees, John saying, "Oh, shit, Rodney, Rodney, talk to me, buddy," and rubbing his back.

Somewhere above his head, Mr. Sheppard is saying, "Fuck, I'm so sorry, it's my fault. I knew I shouldn't have—"

His wife is interrupting with, "Regan, it's not—John, let me take his—"

And John snaps, "I got him," and then, softer, against Rodney's hair, "You hear me? I got you, you're fine, sh," Which makes Rodney realize that he's making tight little strangled sounds, he slaps a hand over his mouth, tucking his face against John's shoulder. It's easy to just squeeze his eyes shut, let John wrap around him, and wait for the nausea to pass. The crowd noise comes back in slowly, people leaving as the final pop-up fly ends with out number three.

John is still rubbing his shoulders, and Rodney makes himself shift back, his face hot with embarrassment. He's so tired of making a fool of himself out in public, and he hates that he makes John so worried. John, who is pushing Rodney's hair back, smiling at him comfortingly and saying, "See? You're just fine. Nothing bad is going to happen to you while I'm here, okay?"

And then John's mother is kneeling in front of them, reaching out to take Rodney's pulse, her expression concerned when she asks, "Does this happen frequently? The panic attacks?" And when Rodney's expression goes to guilt, she makes a tiny, hurt, sound, "Why didn't you say anything? Either of you?"

Rodney feels John's arm tighten around his shoulder, can see John's chin going up out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn't think he'd ever forgive himself for starting a fight between John and his parents. Rodney blurts, wanting to hide his face again, "Please, don't make me leave. They're not—they're getting better. They are. And they're not dangerous. I'm not going to hurt John. I wouldn't. I," he chokes, "I couldn't."

For a long moment everyone just stares at him, the bleachers empty all around them. He fights down a fresh surge of fear, trying to keep his breathing from going choppy and shallow again, not quite managing. His voice is tight and thin, "Please, I'll be better, I'll—"

John grabs him, a hand on either side of Rodney's face, and his expression is a kind of intense Rodney hasn't seen on him before. John says, voice low and rough, "I'm never losing you again. Not ever, Rodney. Not ever. Not for anything. Not for anyone."

"Promise?" And Rodney hates how small his voice sounds, but there's not enough air in his chest to make it any louder.

John brushes his thumb across Rodney's cheek, voice gentler now, "I swear." Rodney squeezes his eyes closed, leaning into John's touch, feeling his heart finally slow down, feeling his whole body sag. He feels exhausted, scraped raw inside.

And then John's mother is saying, "Oh, God, baby," and hugging both he and John. Rodney keeps his eyes closed, letting John pull him closer, hiding in the face of the affection and John's father's big hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. John's mother is saying, her voice saturated with emotion, "Sweetie, don't you know? You're our boy, we're never going to send you away."

* * *

It's not until they're driving home, Rodney curled up in the backseat against John, losing himself in the slow stroke of John's hand up and down his side, that Rodney remembers there was a start to the entire debacle. He frowns, clearing his throat, and his voice is still hoarse when he asks, "Why did you want to know about the kids under the mountain?"

In the front seat, John's parents exchange a look, and then John's father takes a deep breath, and asks, "You remember Helms' campsite out by the lake?"

* * *

After John's father gets done explaining, after everyone goes to their rooms, John frowns and says, "You want to check it out tonight?" For a long moment Rodney just stares at him, and John flushes, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, "You do want to check it out, right?"

Rodney nods, "Yeah. I just," he waves one of his hands, not sure how to say that he's just surprised John wants to be a part of it. He settles for smiling, reaching out and squeezing John's wrist, trying to put all the gratitude he feels into his voice, "Thank you. I'll let Teyla know we're coming." And John nods, ushering Rodney out of their room.

The Charger makes a lot of noise when it runs. Luckily, John is perfectly capable of pushing it along for as long as they want in neutral before they start the engine. John pushes them two blocks away from the house before climbing in, not even breathing hard when he grins down at Rodney and slides the car into gear.

Rodney waits until they have Teyla, and Ronon, in the backseat to twist around and tell them, "There's been another attack."

* * *

The Schlotterbecks had, according to John's father, been farmers in the area for the better part of the last century. They'd built the farmhouse, they'd cleared the land, and they'd proceeded to settle in and raise everything from kids, to barns, to cows, to corn.

George Schlotterbeck had taken over for his father when the older man moved down to the Keys to enjoy the hurricanes. He'd brought a pretty wife he'd met at college. They'd had four kids, a bunch of dogs, tons of cows, and had been, to the best of anyone's knowledge, still managing to be fairly successful, which was a small miracle all on its own.

John parks the car out on the road, beside the driveway.

When Ronon steps out of the car, closing his eyes and breathing deep, he rumbles, "Lotta people died here." And then he bends at the waist, making a dry, hacking, sound from deep in his gut and declaring, "Smells wrong here, too. Like in the woods."

Rodney nods, reaching out to take John's hand. He asks, after a moment, into the heavy silence, "Do you need to wait here?" Ronon shakes his head, motioning them forward. The gravel seems unnaturally loud under their feet when they walk down the tree lined drive. Ronon leads, head held high, hands held a little away from his body, fingers spread.

Closer to the house there's a lot of police tape, but they've already finished with the scene. They pause by an overturned pickup truck, a sticker for the volunteer fire department on the back, staring at the front yard, bathed as it is in moonlight. There's a swing set off to one side, torn apart. The dog kennels further away from the house are similarly destroyed.

John breathes, "Jesus," and Rodney nods, squeezing his hand and pressing closer to John's side.

George Schlotterbeck had killed two of his children, and three of his dogs. That hardly seems news worthy anymore. But he'd done it with his bare hands, just tearing them to pieces, on his way to his other two kids when his wife had managed to get one of the family's shotguns to blow off his head.

Teyla asks, in almost a whisper, "Your father believes that it is a gifted child causing this?"

Rodney feels John shrug, the other boy's voice flat and distant, "I don't think he knows what to believe." He pulls Rodney closer, and they walk slowly amongst the carnage. Rodney isn't sure exactly what he's looking for. A giant sign proclaiming: The Genii Were Here, maybe. But it's just destruction, wanton and random, and he can make no patterns out of any of it.

Teyla kneels down across the lawn, poking at something in the dirt and then shouting, jerking back. Ronon reaches her first, lifting her and moving her back, John and Rodney a step behind him. She's staring at the ground, breathing fast when she says, "It moved! I thought—I believed it to be a toy, but it moved."

Rodney blinks at her, and starts to bend down. John grabs him, pushing him back a step before crouching down, feeling around on the ground where Teyla had been. After a moment he frowns, standing, something crooked and roughly the size of his forearm in his hand. Rodney blurts, "What the hell is it?"

John shrugs, "I think it's some kind of plastic bug-leg thing," he pokes it with one finger, and it jerks. Rodney shouts, and the rest of them jump. John squishes it, closing his hand around it and then groaning, "Oh, gross," as some kind of goo runs down over his hand. He drops the thing to the ground, wiping his hand on the grass, still frowning.

And that's when Ronon says, staring hard at the crushed thing, "That's the smell." He turns, spitting on the ground, "It's not natural."

For a moment no one says a word, and then John heaves a sigh, "This is just getting really fucking weird." Rodney laughs involuntarily, raising one hand and trying to keep it quiet, but Teyla is already joining in, and Ronon even cracks a smile.

Rodney pokes John in the side, "You can take care of telling your father how it's actually the evil plastic bugs killing cops and firemen, and not a gifted kid, okay?" And John makes a face, placing his clean hand on Rodney's back and guiding him back towards the car.

John says, when they're all back in the car, "Does anyone else feel kind of like Nancy Drew?" And Rodney is laughing too hard to point out that there are too many of them to be Nancy's trinity of sleuths. He wonders if that makes him Ned, and gets the giggles again, trying to imagine Ronon as George and Teyla as Bess.

* * *

##### Part Three

The phone ringing wakes Rodney up the next morning. He starts to shift up, and manages to get his head off of John's shoulder before someone else answers. John mumbles something in his sleep, making a face and Rodney rolls his eyes, settling back against him.

He's not tired anymore, but he likes watching John sleep. Rodney carefully stretches his fingers out, his palm pressed over John's heart in their sleep. John hums, mumbles something that might be Rodney's name and reaches up, covering Rodney's hand with his and then stilling again.

Rodney is still frozen, heart beating hard, when John's mother knocks on their door and says, "Elizabeth Weir wants to speak with you," as she opens the door. For a moment she just blinks at them, and Rodney makes an attempt to untangle himself from her son, but John holds on.

Then she smiles, huge and bright, and walks across to hand Rodney the phone. She says, "He gets this from his father," pushing John's head to the side. John tightens his grip on Rodney's hand, but other than that doesn't stir, and she rolls her eyes before walking out of the room, grinning again when she pulls the door shut.

For a moment Rodney forgets completely about the phone, but Elizabeth's faint voice reminds him. He squirms around, poking John in the stomach in an attempt to wake him, greeting her finally. Rodney isn't expecting her to say, without any preamble at all, "Ronon told me what happened last night. We've got to check out the bodies."

* * *

Twelve hours later, Rodney has admitted that checking out the bodies is probably a good idea, and is irritated that Elizabeth thought of it first. Ronon is looking insufferably smug again, sitting in the back seat of the Charger with one arm wrapped around Elizabeth's shoulders.

John twists around, shutting the engine off, asking, "You're sure this is where they are?"

Elizabeth nods, opening the door and sliding out into the night. She's whispering when she replies, "Yes. Believe me, it's all my parents have been talking about lately," her smile looks just a little stiff, and she shoots Rodney a guilty look at the mention of her parents. He looks down, biting his lip until the stiff wash of anger passes.

Rodney says, still looking down at the seat, "I still think me and John should come with you." Because he understands why she needs to go, her father's security card is going to get them in, after all. And Ronon is the only one that knows what the bug-thing smells like. And Rodney understands that having more people along would just increase their odds of getting caught.

He wants to go anyway. He's not used to sitting on the sidelines while other people run around figuring things out. Ronon slides out of the car, patting the hood and not even responding to Rodney's protest. Rodney figures that's probably because they've been over it close to a hundred times.

John squeezes Rodney's knee, and when Rodney looks up, the other boy smiles encouragingly. Teyla shifts in the backseat, hooking her elbows over the front seat and cradling John's cellphone against her shoulder. She says, whispering, "You are clear, the night guard has retuned to his television."

And then they all fall silent, holding their breath, waiting. Teyla keeps the line open, sitting with her eyes closed and a little furrow of concentration on her forehead. Rodney bounces his leg, sure that at any moment something is going to go horribly wrong, and John starts rubbing little circles on Rodney's knee with his thumb, his fingers squeezing reassuringly.

Rodney flashes the other boy a tight smile, and John nods, before turning to stare out the window. The night is inky-black, nothing visible beyond the streetlights and the bugs attempting suicide beneath them. Rodney bites at his bottom lip, watching the hands on his watch crawl around, and nearly jumps out of his skin when Teyla whispers, "They are returning now."

It's been ten minutes. It felt like years.

Teyla scrambles across the seat to open the door, and Elizabeth scrambles in a second later, followed by Ronon. They're both out of breath, and Elizabeth is clutching a camera in her hands. John starts the car without anyone saying a word, and they leave without laying down rubber or spinning their wheels, because the point is to not get caught.

Rodney waits until John parks again, a few blocks away, and then twists around expectantly, "So they were dead, right?"

Elizabeth presses the camera into his hands, mouth thin and tight. It's Ronon that answers, "Very dead. And so was that thing," he points at the camera, and Rodney blinks, staring down at the screen. For a moment it doesn't make any sense, and he tilts the camera to the side.

"Rodney?" John leans over, and Rodney twists the screen towards the other boy, frowning. John makes a face, fingers brushing over Rodney's, "What the hell is that thing? Besides fuck-ugly." In the backseat, Elizabeth makes a soft, laughing sound.

Ronon says, "Don't know. But it has the smell. And it's missing a leg."

Rodney stares down at the screen, the bug-thing laid out on a metal tray, its long, segmented limbs stretched out. The thing's fleshy, pink underbelly is just visible under the hard blue chitin exterior. It has a long tail, stretched out behind it, and its front-end is covered with what Rodney has a sinking feeling is dried blood.

He finally looks up, swallowing heavily before speaking, "Interesting that this wasn't mentioned on the news." He exchanges a worried look with John.

Elizabeth sighs, leaning forward, her voice worried and tight, "That's not all that's interesting. Look at the next photo," and when Rodney does, she continues in a softer voice, "He was the only one...like that." Rodney stares down at the picture of the man. He assumes the body used to be Mr. Schlotterbeck. Besides the fact that half his neck is missing, the way his entire right ear is a bloody mess seems worrisome.

John clears his throat, "I have mentioned that I hate bugs, right?"

Rodney looks up, reaching out to squeeze John's hand. He says, "I'm pretty sure you're the only one that doesn't have anything to worry about from these things." John nods after a moment, but he's still staring down at the screen, his expression far away.

* * *

The next day they end up spending hours trying to identify the bug-thing. John deals with explaining, in broad, non-specific terms, what they found to his parents. Elizabeth and Ronon even drive upstate to the college she'll be attending rather soon, trying to get some help from the zoology department there. Rodney sticks to the internet. He's better with that.

The troublesome thing is, of course, that there's nothing like the bug anywhere. In desperation Rodney even checks out all the crypto-zoology links he can find. They are, amazingly, completely unhelpful. No one, at least no one willing to talk about it, has ever seen anything like what they're looking for.

John leans over his shoulder, warmth radiating down against Rodney's skin and taking the edge off of the headache that Rodney can feel behind his eyes. Rodney takes a deep breath, leaning just a little back into John, barely hearing it when John speaks, "What are the odds of us discovering a new species?"

Rodney rubs a hand up over his face, "A new species that attacks people?" He shrugs, "Not very high, not here, anyway." They're in the middle of the suburbs. It's not exactly where people go when they're looking to discover new and exotic things.

For a moment they're silent, John bracing a hand on Rodney's shoulder and watching him type. The most frustrating thing is that there's nothing that even remotely resembles the creature around. It's like an oversize spider-mosquito-leech thing, except for how it isn't.

When John pulls the chair away from the computer, Rodney startles, turning to blink up at him. John is smiling, but his eyes are serious when he says, "Come on, we've chased enough wild geese for today. Let's get some sleep."

Rodney frowns, because as tempting as it is, as tired as he is, this is irritating him like a toothache. He crosses his arms, "I'll be up in a while. I just want to check—"

"Rodney," John sounds affectionately exasperated, bending over Rodney and resting his hands on Rodney's shoulders. "Come to bed, okay? You need to sleep," and for a moment all Rodney can do is stare at him, his stomach doing odd, twisting things as John's thumb rubs across his collarbone.

Rodney swallows heavily, his voice coming out as a whisper, "Okay. Okay, sure." He's fairly certain he meant to put up more of a fight than that. Then it doesn't matter, because John is smiling at him, pulling Rodney to his feet and holding his hand all the way up the stairs.

Of course, none of that makes it easy to sleep. Rodney closes his eyes, head on John's shoulder, and feels pretty much the opposite of tired. Each time John breathes they shift, and his warmth is just sinking into Rodney's skin. Rodney does not hold out much hope for being able to get any rest.

"Hey, Rodney?" John's voice isn't exactly a surprise. Rodney can tell when he's sleeping, and the other boy's breathing had been all wrong. Rodney hums in answer, wrapping his arm around John's chest even though he knows he probably shouldn't. "Whatever it is, we're going to figure it out, okay? It's just a bug."

Rodney nods, feeling John's fingers brushing up and down his side, absent comfort that Rodney wants to push up into so badly it hurts. His voice comes out rough and ragged, so he's certain John will notice something is wrong, "An evil, potentially people-eating bug," and he bites his bottom lip, wanting all the things he can't have, and feels John shift his head.

John says, "Still just a bug, it's totally squishable. I should know, right?" soft and comforting. If Rodney concentrates really hard, he can just about pretend he can feel John's breath stirring his hair. By the time he falls asleep, he's almost managed to convince himself that John must have his lips pressed up against the top of Rodney's head. Which is stupid, he knows. He likes the thought anyway.

* * *

A week later, they're no closer to finding the answer. The only good news that Rodney can see in the whole situation is that at least no one else has been killed. Though, for all they know, the attacks have just shifted to another area. It's frustrating, and it's starting to piss him off. They're being outsmarted by bugs.

Rodney throws his stress into putting the finishing touches in the Charger, enlisting John and Ronon's assistance to wrestle the real, actual seats into place, tired of getting poked by pointy springs. The new stereo and speakers he puts in himself, using his gift to meld them seamlessly into place.

He's leaning over the hood, his fingers fanned out against the cool metal, checking all the systems carefully, when John's mother leans her hip against the passenger door. Rodney blinks slowly, for a long moment his brain still thinking in gears and pistons. She waits, head tilted to the side as she watches him, and he finally shakes himself, nodding at her.

John had gone inside to get them something to drink, and Rodney looks hopefully towards the door to the house. He likes John's mother, he always has, but he can't help but being embarrassed around her. He hadn't meant to freak out where she could see. He hadn't wanted her or her husband to see how messed up he was.

She says, softly, "You did a good job with this," smoothing one hand across the hood. There's the shine of sincere appreciation in her eyes, and Rodney shifts his weight from foot to foot, flushing at the praise. Of all the things he's built, the Charger is one of his favorites.

He shrugs, sticking his hands into his pockets, "John helped a lot," and she turns to smile at him, her eyes crinkling up in the corners.

After a moment she says, "I'm sure he did," and there's only a hint of teasing in her voice. And then she sobers, still running her hand over the car when she continues, "Rodney. I know that I'm not—" she cuts herself off with a sigh, and starts over, "I hope you know how much Regan and I care about you. You're like a son to us, and we just want you to be happy. We want you and John both to be happy. Very much."

Rodney stares at her, and then drops his gaze to the floor, rubbing the toe of his shoe over an oil stain on the concrete. He blurts, "I'm happy. I'm—a lot. And I think John is. John's happy, isn't he?" He makes himself look up, searching her expression.

She nods, quickly, and Rodney exhales heavily, reaching up to rub at his neck. For a half-second he'd been sure he'd missed something, overlooked something important. She steps towards him carefully, taking his hands and squeezing them, sitting down on the edge of the hood and looking up at him. For a moment she just stares up into his face and Rodney shifts, not sure what she's looking for.

Her voice is very soft when she speaks, "I have never seen John as happy as when he's with you," Rodney tries to pull his hands away and she squeezes his wrists, going on intently, "Rodney, it's okay. Hey, look at me for just a second." And it's only then that Rodney realizes he'd been staring intently at the wall. He swallows and looks back at her, still tugging against her grip.

She releases one of his hands, reaching up and tucking some of his hair behind his ear. Her expression is soft and gentle, and Rodney wants to look away again. He makes himself resist the urge. She says, "I don't know what your parents told you about love—" she makes a face again, exhales heavily, "Look, I just want you to know, if you need to talk to me about anything, ask me about anything, ever, I'm right here. Okay?"

Rodney just nods. He's not entirely sure what she's getting at, but she seems very serious about it.

For a long moment she just stares at him, and then she smiles, tugging on some of his hair again and leaning back. She says, trailing her fingertips up the line of the hood, "Are you boys planning on going to the fair this weekend?" and Rodney nods, because Teyla's been talking about it for weeks.

Rodney neglects to mention that they're breaking Carson out again.

And that's when John throws the door open, looking a little wild around the eyes when he hurries out. He takes one look at his mother, cutting his gaze quickly to Rodney, and blurts, "What did you say to him?" He looks like he's not sure if he should be upset or not. Rodney frowns, going to him and wrapping an arm around his waist.

John's mother blinks, and then shakes her head, "Nothing, John. We were just talking about the car." For a moment John just stares at her, and then he nods, exhaling raggedly and squeezing Rodney. Rodney looks between them, waiting for some explanation.

Apparently, he's not going to get one, because then John is saying, "Hey, we should go for a drive. Do you want to go for a drive? Test out the new speakers?" Before Rodney can so much as nod agreement, John is pulling the passenger side door open for him, and doing an odd little hop-skip around to the driver's side.

Rodney decides not to ask.

* * *

Breaking Carson out is easier this time. Rodney is slightly confused why Carson's parents aren't more concerned about the rapidly deteriorating health Carson is using as his excuse, but it's working in their favor, so he doesn't worry too much about it.

Carson and Teyla drive their own car to the fair, but everyone else piles in the Charger after picking Carson up. The fair is across town, and Rodney twists around on the seat, explaining the new seats and the radio to Ronon and Elizabeth as John drives.

They're maybe halfway there when someone pulls up alongside them and stays there. It takes Rodney a moment to notice, and then he frowns, looking across at the other vehicle. John says, without Rodney saying a word, "I think they want to race," frowning and tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

Rodney blinks, asking, "Really?" leaning further forward so that he can see the other car better. It's a little Honda with a huge spoiler, set low to the ground. He cocks his head to the side, ignoring the other driver and the passengers to put his focus on the engine.

It only takes Rodney a moment to wrap his mind around it, and then he grins, shifting his focus to John. He says, "We can take them." He's aware he might be cheating, but the other car is still matching them for speed, the driver thumping his hand on the steering wheel and motioning impatiently. They're asking for it.

John turns to gape at him, "Are you serious?"

Rodney blinks, tilting his head to the side, "Well, if you don't want to, we don't have to. I was just saying that we could." For another long moment John just stares, and Rodney guides the car through a turn, waiting.

And then John is grinning at him, demanding, "Put on your seatbelt," and Elizabeth laughs delightedly in the backseat. Rodney bounces once, smiling, thrilled that he put that expression on John's face. Around the next turn is a straightaway, and Rodney can feel the other car's engine revving up. He reaches out and grabs John's thigh, sucking in a breath.

They've never really taken the Charger over seventy. They'd never had any reason to, and Rodney is aware that the few times John's almost taken it higher he's caught himself and brought it back down. Now the engine roars, John shifting gears, the tires flying over the road.

The other car keeps up with them for maybe an eighth of a mile, and then they're just gone. Rodney throws his head back, laughing, and John grabs him when they slow down, coming up on other traffic. John wraps a hand around the back of Rodney's neck, squeezing, and for a half second they just stare at each other, grinning like maniacs.

Elizabeth says, "You're insane! Both of you!" but she's laughing. Rodney blinks, feeling his cheeks go red when John clears his throat and drops his hand down. The other car catches up to them once they get back into the stop and go of the lights, but the driver hangs back.

Rodney grins, dropping his head down on John's shoulder.

* * *

They end up having to wait for Teyla and Carson nearly fifteen minutes outside the gates of the fair, but Rodney doesn't really mind. John is almost giddily happy, pulling Rodney back against him when they lean against the car, arms wrapped around Rodney, rocking them side to side.

Elizabeth is asking Ronon, when Teyla and Carson finally walk up, "So, you're going to win me a giant teddy bear, right?"

Ronon looks deathly serious all of a sudden, the way he gets sometimes, "You want one?" And when Elizabeth nods, smiling and leaning against him, "Yes, where are they?" Elizabeth laughs, taking his hand and dragging him off towards the ticket stand.

Rodney rolls his eyes at them, leaning his head back against John's shoulder, doing what he's sure is a piss-poor imitation of Elizabeth's voice, "And what about you? Do I get a giant teddy bear, too?" He makes an attempt at fluttering his eyelashes.

John raises his eyebrows, like he's thinking about it. He sounds oddly serious himself when he leans in to say against Rodney's ear, "I meant it when I said you could have whatever you wanted from me." Rodney shivers, even though it's not really cool at all yet, feeling his breath catch somewhere in the back of his throat.

"John..." his voice comes out softer than anticipated, and John hums, so close Rodney can feel the other boy's breath against his neck.

For a half second Rodney can't move, and then he opens his mouth, his mind curiously blank. Before he can get a word out, Elizabeth is calling from the ticket line, "Come on! We can't just hold up the line for you two!" And Rodney suddenly really, really, wants to hit her. He shakes himself.

"Right, coming!"

* * *

Ronon is bound and determined the secure the biggest stuffed animal in the whole damn fair for Elizabeth, which means that they spend the first hour wandering around, doing size checks from stall to stall. They finally end up in front of some kind of rope-ladder construct that Rodney thinks looks incredibly unsafe.

Apparently Ronon disagrees. They all stand around in front of it for awhile, Ronon watching the other people that attempt it intently. Rodney does his best to ignore the fact that Teyla and Carson are pretty much ignoring everything and everyone else. It's hard when he can feel the undercurrent of her emotions right below his surface thoughts. When John grabs Rodney's elbow, squeezing softly, Rodney moans, shivering and trying to push down the swell of need and want.

"Hey, you okay?" John sounds concerned, reaching out and tilting Rodney's chin up. Rodney manages a nod after a moment, even though he's not sure he is. He hasn't been this close to Teyla before when she was...like this. It's dizzying. John is frowning when he continues, "Are you sure? You look, uh, kind of flushed."

Rodney nods again, swallowing hard when John just frowns some more, sliding his hand over the curve of Rodney's cheek. Rodney leans into the touch automatically, sparks going off behind his eyes, gasping softly and grabbing John's arm for balance. John says, "Hey, whoa—" grabbing for him.

And that's when Elizabeth starts cheering, and Teyla comes up for air long enough for Rodney to steady himself a little. He shakes his head, watching Ronon triumphantly ring the bell at the top of the ladder, before climbing back down again instead of just falling to the mats below.

The owner of the game is gaping at Ronon, and for a half-second Rodney thinks the man might accuse Ronon of cheating. Apparently, the guy realizes that probably wouldn't be the best idea, and swallows heavily instead. In any case, Elizabeth ends up with a giant, fluorescent yellow, unicorn that's bigger than she is.

A half second later Elizabeth is pulling Ronon down, kissing him full-on with tongue and everything right there on the midway. Rodney looks away, because that's really about the last thing he needs to see. He's having enough trouble dealing with the constant stream of sexsexsex from Teyla's thoughts.

In desperation, Rodney grabs John's arm, and blurts, "Where next?"

Which is probably how Rodney ends up agreeing to go on highly unsafe rides. He even manages to convince himself, right up to the front of the line for something called the Zipper, that he'll be fine. He's done a lot of things since last time he rode one of these things. He's sure it's better now.

* * *

John demands, "Why didn't you tell me you didn't like them?" looking worried and upset, kneeling down beside Rodney and wrapping him up in a hug. Rodney buries his face against John's neck, swallowing down air, waiting for his stomach to settle, balling his hands into fists because they're shaking.

This is unbelievably stupid, and he grits his teeth. After everything that's been done to him, after everything that he's been through, he hates that this still gets to him. There are eight-year-olds on the stupid ride. Laughing.

John makes a tight sound, rubbing a hand up and down Rodney's back, "Oh, god, I'm so sorry. I should have thought—Are you okay? Do you want to go home?" He sounds guilty, and Rodney tries to explain that it's not John's fault, that his brain is just ridiculous sometimes, but can't quite manage it yet. He shakes his head instead. "Teyla, is he—he's not talking to me," there's an edge of panic to the words.

There are small hands on Rodney's forehead, and he squirms away, turning closer to John. Teyla strokes her fingers down the line of Rodney's neck, her voice soft, gentle, "He is—it is complicated. But he will be alright." Rodney nods, because he's fine. Just a little overwhelmed, and stupidly terrified of something that should in no way scare him.

"Oh, thank God," John makes a little laughing sound, squeezing Rodney tighter, "You should have told me, Rodney. I wouldn't—you should have told me."

Rodney shrugs, his heart rate finally coming down. He says, into the dark, safe space against John's neck, "It's okay. I'm okay. I didn't want you to have to ride alone." And that, at least, is the truth. John had wanted to get in the deathtrap, and there was no way Rodney was letting him go alone.

John makes the little laughing noise again, saying, "Go on ahead, you guys. We'll catch up, okay?" Rodney means to protest that he's fine, really, but it's easier to think with Teyla a little further away. He relaxes against John, trying to breathe slow and deep.

When Rodney feels steady enough, he shifts, John only releasing him slowly. John still looks tense and worried, his eyes dark and his mouth pressed thin. Rodney winces. He really hadn't intended that, and he clears his throat, waving a hand absently when he says, "So. Um. I think that's better, then. Do you—what else did you want to get on?"

For a long moment John just stares at him, expression slipping to disbelief. And then he's shaking his head vehemently, saying, "No, no, we're not riding anything else. I don't like them that much anyway, actually."

Rodney flinches, looking down at his hands, biting his bottom lip, "We can. I don't—I'm just being a baby about it and you want to and—"

John catches Rodney's hands, which he'd been waving around, trying to shape the words in the air. His voice is soft, low, "Rodney, there are other things I want a lot more than being on a stupid ride, okay?" John squeezes gently, rubbing his thumbs over Rodney's wrists.

"Okay," Rodney nods jerkily, blinking across at John. Some of the strain has drained out of the other boy's features, and he's smiling softly. Rodney manages a tight smile back after a minute, and then takes a deep breath, and blurts, "You know, I can ride the Ferris Wheel. For some reason it doesn't bother me at all." That gets him a huge grin from John, and Rodney feels some of the pressure in his chest ease.

* * *

So, the Ferris Wheel does actually bother Rodney a little bit, but it's nothing even close to as bad as the other rides. It's just a soft itch in his center of his chest, and a constant rush of adrenaline trying to tell his body that it needs to flee.

But he can deal with it, especially when John is there, smiling with his head tilted back, staring up at the sky. Rodney presses closer to the other boy, concentrating on the weight of John's arm around his waist, the beat of John's heart under his ear. It takes a lot of effort to ignore all the creaks and groans and stress points he can feel on the ride, but it's worth it anyway.

Their car stops at the top of the wheel, swinging just a little back and forth, and Rodney twists his fingers up in John's shirt. John says, "You didn't have to do this," soft and thick. Rodney lifts his head just enough to blink at the other boy, who is watching him with dark, gentle eyes.

Rodney shrugs, "It's not a big deal." Before he can put his head back against John's shoulder, where he doesn't have to see how far away the ground is, John catches his chin. For a long moment they just stare at each other, John's expression deep and serious.

John says, "I think it is," and leans forward.

Rodney's eyes go wide, and he's sure, positive, one hundred percent, that John is going to kiss him. The ride lurches, and John's lips land on his cheek, dry and brief before they both shift back. John's cheeks are red, and Rodney can feel his own doing the same thing.

He takes the coward's path, and buries his face against John's neck, his heart beating double time for the rest of the ride, until the conductor opens their little door and ushers them out. They end up standing right outside the exit, John with his hands in his pockets, still blushing bright red.

Rodney shifts his weight, looks at John, looks back at the ride, and tilts his chin up. He takes a bracing breath and says, before he can convince himself not to, "I think we should ride again. I liked—the top. I liked it when we were at the top. I think we should go back there again."

John looks up at him, eyes wide and surprised. For a brief, horrifying moment, Rodney is sure that John is going to laugh at him and walk away. Instead, John grabs his wrist, dragging him back towards the front of the line, expression intense and almost a little frightening.

They're almost there when Elizabeth and Ronon run up, breathing a little heavy with exertion, Elizabeth saying, "We've been looking for you two all over the place. Guess what Teyla and Carson found?"

* * *

Teyla and Carson, it turns out, found a fortune teller. Elizabeth and Ronon are intent on dragging them to see it, even after Rodney points out that he has a sister that pretty much does the same thing and that he and John really, really need to ride the Ferris Wheel again.

John is silent, frowning and continually looking over his shoulder, and Rodney wants to say that they don't really need the Ferris Wheel, that he'd be perfectly fine pretending that right here was the top of the ride, but he doesn't know how to get the words through his throat. He ends up saying almost nothing, dragged along to see some fraud, frustrated out of his mind.

They reach the little tent just as Carson is stepping out, looking a little confused and off balance. Teyla steps up to the boy immediately, grabbing his hands and asking what the man told him. She has smears of glitter across the back of her hands, and Rodney rolls his eyes.

Rodney is seriously considering kicking the asses of all of his friends, when Carson shakes himself and says, stumbling over the words just a little, "He didn't say all that much really. I probably shouldn't—" Teyla nudges him pointedly in the ribs and Carson sighs.

For a long moment, Carson just stares at the ground, and then he looks up, rubbing a hand back over his head, "I'm sure it's the same thing he tells everyone, really." Teyla elbows him again, he makes a face at her before continuing, gesturing dramatically, "If you must know, he said that I'm destined to be a great hero, braver than everyone I know, and that I'll be getting my name in the paper, and a great big party back home." His expression does something funny at the end, but before Rodney can figure out what the expression is, it's been wiped away.

John says, "Sounds pretty specific to me," his tone a little flat and dry. "Are we done now? Because me and Rodney have to go back and—"

Elizabeth interrupts, "Oh, no, it's your turn next, come on." She points expectantly at the tent, raising her eyebrows and Rodney frowns at her.

Then he throws up his hands, "Fine, fine, sure." He turns to look at John, meeting the other boy's eyes and feeling a shiver down his spine, "Let's just get it over with fast, okay?" Something flashes across John's expression, and Rodney licks his lips, feeling something tighten up in his stomach when John grabs his hand and drags him towards the tent flap.

Elizabeth calls, "Wait, you're supposed to go in one—" but they ignore her, ducking in together. Inside it's dimly lit, and smells like nothing so much as mud. There's a rug on the ground, dirty and worn. Rodney shoots John a skeptical look, and John catches his chin, suddenly closer, and oh—

"There are rules in place for a reason," the voice is low and hoarse. Rodney startles. On the other side of the rug, sitting with his legs folded, is an older man, his face all in shadows, big hands resting on his knees. John pushes Rodney a step back, edging in front of him, and the man gives a wheezing laugh, "And there are those you cannot protect him from, boy."

John growls, "Fuck you, just watch me," his shoulders squaring up.

The old man wheezes again, rocking himself side to side, tilting his face up to the light. His smile is wide and wrinkly, it crinkles his entire face up. Rodney feels something cold unfold in his chest, and grips at the back of John's shirt, trying to pull him back. He feels dizzy, suddenly, like the world is spinning under his feet, going topsy-turvy and wrong side up.

The man says, "Perhaps you are right, perhaps I am wrong. But you are children of different sides. You walk with the angels. He no longer does. One day you will have to choose whether or not your fall is worth having him. Blood for blood." Rodney shudders, the words ringing through his head, stirring up his equilibrium. He feels John twist. He feels John catch him and pull him close.

Rodney gasps, "Out of here, out of here, please," and John lifts him. He can feel the way John is trembling, knows that whatever this is isn't just touching him, and tries to fight against it. John is walking backwards, his knees dipping alarmingly with each step, groping one hand out for the exit. Rodney is sure this room was not this big before.

The old man's voice pounds away at his skull, "Orphan boy, gone to prepare the way for your parents, just like falling asleep," and then John is tumbling sideways. They land hard on the packed dirt outside, under the midway lights. Above them, somewhere, there are voices, concerned and worried.

Rodney twists, grabbing John's shoulders, words dragging like razors in his throat, "My parents!"

John grabs him, pulling him close, and it's only then that Rodney realizes he'd been thrashing, shaking, coming apart at the seams. John says, "Sh," into his hair, one arm around Rodney's back, the other reaching into Rodney's pocket, fumbling with the cellphone there. He demands, "What's their number? Rodney! What's their number?"

Rodney shakes his head, taking the phone away from John, curling over it, his hands shaking as he punches in the long stream that will dial his parent's house. He feels nauseous, barely breathing, listening to the ringing, ringing, ringing.

"Oh God, oh my God, I'll kill him, Rodney, I'll—" John's voice, low and panicked, John's arms around him, holding him tight as the phone rings and rings and rings. Rodney chokes on a scream, because no, his parents are immortal they're invincible, they always have been. They've been heroes since they were kids, tough as nails. They've taken all comers. They're warriors. They're too stubborn, too smart, and far too good at what they do to die.

The phone rings again, and halfway through there's a fuzz of static, and then, like a miracle, a sleepy voice saying, "Hello? Who is this?"

It's his mother's voice. Rodney drops the phone, vaguely hearing her speaking, sounding more and more irritated by the second, "Hello? Is there anyone there? No, Richard, it's just some—" the line goes dead. Rodney curls over, presses his hands over his face and rocks himself. John curls up around him, and, distantly, Rodney can even hear him yelling. He can't make out the words.

Rodney jerks his head up, scrambling to his feet, batting at John's hands when John tries to pull him back, blurting, "What if he meant you?"

For a half second John just stares, mouth open, expression breaking. And then John is twisting to the side, throwing up messily, while Rodney fumbles with the phone again, trying to remember if either of John's parents are working, pacing in a tight circle, shoving away the faceless people that try to reach for him.

John's father says, "Hello?" and Rodney laughs, feeling hysterical, falling back to his knees and grabbing John, pressing the phone into his hands and crawling into his lap. John holds him, rocking them both back and forth, having what Rodney's sure is an incredibly disjointed conversation with his father.

Somewhere above them, Elizabeth is demanding an explanation and Teyla is talking fast and jerky, but Rodney can't focus on it. He wraps his arms around John and holds on tight, John whispering into his hair, "They're okay, they're fine, they're okay," over and over again.

* * *

Neither of them are in any condition to drive, and no one else knows how to use a stick, so they wait for John's parents to come pick them up. By the time John's mother speeds into the parking lot, they're curled up on the hood of the Charger, holding onto each other tight.

John pulls Rodney along when he throws himself at his parents, and Rodney doesn't even try to squirm away. He grabs and hugs and holds and feels some of the panic in his bloodstream finally start to fade. John's father is saying, "We're fine, everything is fine, boys, it's okay." Rodney just shakes his head, clinging to John and everyone else, willing the rest of the fear away.

It takes a long time before they manage to make it home. And none of them make it to their rooms, falling into a pile on the couch and sleeping there, clinging tightly together. When Rodney finally manages to fall into distorted dreams, as gray light starts creeping through the windows, it is with John's arms wrapped around him, John's mother stroking his hair.

* * *

##### Missing Scene Two

The school is dark and quiet now. The parking lots are mostly empty, though Mr. Jackson's car is sitting in one of the back lots. No one else is there, but Teyla parks on the other side of the school, just in case. For a moment they just sit beside each other when she turns off the engine, and then Carson tilts his head to the side, smiling at her and offering her a hand, "Walk with me?"

Teyla grins at him, squeezing his hand briefly before sliding out of the car. The night air is warm and balmy, the car's engine making little settling sounds. Further away there is a cricket making a racket, and the slow, lazy, wind is stirring the branches of the trees set around the property.

Carson comes around the car to take her hand again, threading their fingers together and leaning down to kiss her softly. Teyla smiles against his mouth, turning into him, and sliding an arm around his neck. When they slide apart after a long moment, they stay close, foreheads pressed together.

Here, like this, it is so easy for Teyla to feel what Carson is feeling. He's intentionally pulled back his defenses. All the warmth and affection washes over her. She closes her eyes, smiling giddily, basking in all that he's showing her.

Teyla says, into the space between them, "I love you, too," and he tilts her chin up, kissing her again.

Carson pulls back after a long moment, bringing his hands up, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks. He's watching her, eyes bright and happy. She leans into his touch, and he whispers, soft and thick, "Come on, let's walk awhile."

The grass is dry under their feet when they step off the parking lot. Carson's hand in hers is warm and strong, his fingers curling up over her knuckles. For a time they walk in relative silence, bats occasionally winging by overhead, the lone cricket joined by others of its kind in an increasingly noisy chorus.

Finally Teyla asks, swinging their arms, "I would very much like to hear you say the things you are thinking about."

Carson makes a soft sound, ducking his head and blushing. She can feel his rush of embarrassment, but it's muted beneath his affection and happiness. They keep walking, passing over a patch of burnt earth that Teyla remembers far too well. She shakes herself.

Carson tightens his grip on her hand, squeezing until she looks up at him. His expression is soft and mournful, "I wish I could have been here with you." And Teyla just shakes her head, because as much as she had wanted him, to hold onto, to stand beside, when everything had turned to screams and fire, she had been relieved that he was safely away from it all.

He's not a warrior, not the way she sometimes feels the rest of them are becoming, some more reluctantly than others. That is part of the reason she loves him as much as she does. The fact that he means it, that even though the thought of hurting another person makes him physically ill, he would do it to protect her, only makes the knot of emotion in her chest tighter.

He says, when the silence between them has stretched out again, "I miss you so much," soft and mournful.

"I know," Teyla stops walking, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. "I wish you were with me always." She wonders if that sounds too much, if she might be freaking him out. But he only nods, his arms slung low around her waist, leaning his cheek against the top of her head.

"My parents won't be able to control my life forever," there's a hopeful note in his tone, and Teyla nods, tightening her arms around him. He takes a deep breath, "I—I hope you'll still have me. I thought, perhaps, we could spend a year abroad, before college? Together?"

Teyla sucks in a surprised breath, skimming along his mind just to make sure he's serious. Everything she gets from him is sincerity and hope. She twists her fingers in his shirt, turning the thought over in her mind, testing it out. Carson blurts, "If you don't want to, I—"

Kissing him quiets the back-peddling.

Teyla says, half-breathless, "I would like that. Very much." He smiles at her wildly for a moment before leaning back in, his hands sliding up to tangle in her hair when they kiss. He speaks quickly between the kisses, telling her of all the places he wants to go, excited descriptions cut off when their lips meet again.

Teyla listens, and feels the nameless, twisting, worry from the fair finally ease.

* * *

##### Part Four

John's parents go out to the fair the next morning, unheeding of John and Rodney's protests. By the time they pull out of the driveway, John already has the keys to the Charger, and Rodney meets him in the garage. They trail John's parents through the mostly empty fairgrounds, hands clasped together.

The fortune teller man, who looks smaller under the light of day, meets John's parents outside his trailer wearing a threadbare bathrobe and bunny slippers. His hair is messy and he's cradling a cup of coffee, nodding along with whatever John's mother is saying while John and Rodney hide behind the side of a funhouse.

The man laughs at something John's mother says, shaking his head, stepping down and smiling. Rodney feels a chill climb his spine, and John says, "It's okay," squeezing his hand. Rodney nods jerkily, watching John's father quickly shake the other man's hand before they all go their separate ways.

When John's parents head straight for them, Rodney makes a face. Running probably wouldn't do much good, so they just wait, John smiling awkwardly when his father grabs his shoulder and shakes him while saying, "I guess I can't really claim to be surprised you followed us."

Rodney frowns, tugging absently on John's shirt until the other boy pulls him closer, offering as explanation, "We worry." John's parents exchange a look, and then shake their heads again, starting to walk back towards the parking lot. Rodney raises an eyebrow at John and John shrugs, falling into step behind them.

No one says another word until they're back by their vehicles, John's father leaning across the hood and saying, "Well, he's not gifted. And either he's a much better liar than I'm willing to give him credit for, or he really doesn't know what he told you last night. What time did you say you were there?"

For a moment Rodney just stares, and then he shakes himself, pulling out the cellphone and checking the times on the calls. He shrugs, "Almost eight," and ignores the sour knowledge that they must have been out past curfew last night.

John's mother exchanges another long look with her husband and then sighs, "According to him, he was in a drunken stupor by that point." She wrinkles her nose up, "And that I believe." She shrugs, bouncing the keys in her hand, her mouth going tight.

John exhales heavily, and says, "He was just drunk and crazy," soft and deliberate, like he testing out the explanation.

Rodney frowns, remembering the way the world had went twisty, and then looks up at John, worried and tense, upset, and says, "Yeah. Yeah, he must have been." John smiles, something small and tight. Rodney matches the expression after a beat, and tries to push the memories of the previous night away. It doesn't work as well as he'd hoped.

* * *

There are other things Rodney wants to talk to John about regarding that night. But every time he tries his tongue gets stuck to the roof of his mouth. There never seems to be a good time for it, not with Teyla so giddy about Carson's parents being gone for two weeks, with Elizabeth being worried about moving, with all of them waiting for another attack from the bugs.

At least the moving thing they can do something helpful about. And it's completely worth the use of a weekend just for the way Elizabeth's parents look when they all show up at her house. Rodney smirks at her parents when she leads the way to her room, waving jauntily, watching John scowl at them.

Teyla and Carson had pleaded other plans, and Rodney is expending a lot of effort to not sense what they're doing, but between the rest of them Rodney doubts it'll take very long to get everything moved to Elizabeth's new apartment upstate.

She already has everything in boxes, labeled and set neatly around her rooms. Her bed is disassembled, the mattresses leaning against the wall beside an impressively huge dresser. For a moment Rodney just stares, reminding himself to keep his mouth shut.

John cracks his knuckles, walking up to the dresser and sizing it up before grinning and flashing Elizabeth a thumbs up when he says, "We'll have it done in no time." He lifts the dresser, scowling when he looks for handholds, and accidentally taking out the top of her doorjamb when he steps through the door. Rodney grabs the nearest box, labeled shoes, though it feels more like bricks, and hurries after John.

Elizabeth has a huge rental truck parked out in front of her house. John shifts the dresser up higher once he's out of the house. Elizabeth's parents are still looking scandalized in the sitting room. Rodney nods at them again, pausing for just a second, because he'd been briefly sure that there was something odd going on with their entertainment station. He shakes himself when they just stare at him, walking through a flower bed on his way to the truck.

John grumbles, setting the dresser down and frowning down at the moving blankets for a moment before poking them with the toe of his shoe, "I hate those assholes." He makes a halfhearted effort to wrap up the corners of the dresser, and Rodney sets his box down, taking the blankets away from John and doing it himself.

"Hey, we're doing this for Elizabeth, remember? It's not her fault her parents are raging fucktards." Rodney doesn't really feel like admitting that he likes knowing John hates them, that there's a place inside his head where he's jumping up and down with glee over the show of solidarity.

John shrugs, pulling Rodney away from the dresser when it's mostly covered, "I hate them anyway." They pass Elizabeth and Ronon crossing the lawn, Elizabeth wrestling with a giant, awkward, lamp, Ronon carrying two boxes stacked on top of each other. Rodney is pretty sure that the boy is flexing his biceps, and rolls his eyes.

They end up getting her stuff all loaded up in under an hour, most of that time spent making the trip up and down the stairs over and over. They end up with the truck half-full, standing awkwardly beside it while Elizabeth has a tearful goodbye with her parents on the front porch.

Rodney turns away when it shows no signs of immediately ending, pulling himself up into the truck and flattening his hands on the dashboard. After a moment John crawls in after him, nudging him in the shoulder and asking, "Can you drive it?"

Rodney opens his eyes, tasting diesel on the back of his tongue, shaking his head just a little to clear it. He says, "Of course," because he's pretty sure he can drive anything he can touch with his gift. John nods, sitting in the driver's seat anyway, because it hadn't taken long to come to the realization that Rodney behind the wheel with his eyes closed tended to scare the hell out of their fellow motorists, and Rodney can handle the driving every bit as well from the passenger side.

Elizabeth pulls herself up, leaning against the door, her eyes a little wet. She clears her throat twice before speaking, "You guys ready? Just follow me, okay?" And Rodney nods, settling back in the seat, closing his eyes, reaching out.

He wonders what John's planning to do for the ride to keep himself occupied, but before he can ask he gets distracted by the movement of the engine. It takes him a moment to get a fix on Elizabeth's little hybrid, to make sure that he won't forget the way it feels amongst all the other traffic. And then they're set.

The truck rumbles and shakes its way along, magnifying every bump in the road. Rodney breathes deep, and allows himself to sink completely down into the flow of traffic, his mind stretching out, touching all of it.

When Elizabeth pulls to the side, what feels like a long time later, though he has no real grasp of time right now, Rodney starts to follow her. John grabs his arm, saying, "Shit, Rodney, she's being pulled over," John voice is a little garbled, hard to follow when Rodney is spread out so thin.

Rodney shakes his head, because he can feel the police cruiser, Elizabeth pulling off to the side. He knows he's probably not supposed to stop too, but he doesn't know where they're going, and he can't really ask right now. They pull off behind Elizabeth and the cop, and Rodney snaps himself back into his own head.

His hands are cold, and he rubs them together, reaching up to squeeze at his aching neck and shoulders. John says, "Damnit," reaching out to squeeze Rodney's knee, "He's, look, okay, it's okay, just pretend you're sleeping or something, okay?"

And that's about when the cop knocks on the side of John's door. Rodney can feel John tensing up. Rodney pinches at the bridge of his nose, feeling just a little nauseous. It's the first time he's driven that long, and the first time he's tried to follow someone else. His head is buzzing, and he's having some trouble remembering that he's just Rodney, not all those little pieces he'd been touching that are still speeding around.

The cop is saying something, John replying, sounding a little pissed off. That's not good. Rodney frowns, shaking his head hard, pushing his gift down, and feeling his mind settle a little bit. He says, "John?" and reaches for the other boy, squeezing his arm in what he hopes is a comforting way.

The cop frowns across at him, all reflective glasses and a sour expression. Rodney stares back, John bristling up even more. For a half second Rodney is sure John is going to hit the man, which is just bizarre, and then he jerks his head up, still partially connected to the surrounding traffic, shouting, "No!"

Everything goes to shit before Rodney even has a chance to stop it. Rodney grabs John's shoulder for stability, and throws himself into the twisting, crushing, press of the accident. He can't stop it, but he's fairly certain he can at least contain the damage.

There are too many vehicles involved, a tiny sedan running into the side of a jack-knifing semi, a truck going sideways, a billion moving parts, all trying to occupy the same space. Rodney pushes and shoves and rearranges and somehow it all grinds to a stop, all the pieces tangled together, fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

For a moment there's silence, and then the cop is yelling, jumping away from their truck, running for his cruiser and radio. Rodney sags, cutting himself off from the accident, vaguely aware that John is cradling him. His head hurts, a lot.

John is shushing him, and Rodney closes his eyes, ignoring the pounding in the back of his head and the burn up his arms and legs. It's not as bad as he was expecting. His nose isn't even bleeding. He mumbles against John's shirt, "I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm fine." And John laughs, not sounding amused.

The cop is pulling himself up again, his tone weird when he says, "I've never seen anything like that. He did that?" Rodney doesn't try to reply, John handles it for him. The cop makes a huffing sound, and then slaps the side of the truck, "You best get him out of here before anyone else gets here. Things are...tense, right now."

Rodney almost laughs at the understatement, but then John is pulling the door shut and saying, "Hey, this is just like the car, right? Just bigger. I can drive it," and Rodney just nods his head, tired and disoriented when John pulls them out into traffic behind Elizabeth. John does fine.

* * *

Rodney ends up sleeping through the rest of the drive, and most of the unloading phase.

When he wakes up, he's on Elizabeth's mattress in a dark room, blinking across at a wall of cardboard boxes. His mouth is dry and his head feels like it's about to split apart, but other than that he doesn't hurt too badly. There are phantom aches in his hands and feet, but nothing serious.

He pushes to his feet, yawning and rubbing at his face, padding across to the door and wondering where his shoes went. Outside of Elizabeth's bedroom it's brighter, and smells like pizza. He blinks, still a little disoriented, and John is just there, wrapping around him and saying, "Fuck, Rodney, you have to stop doing that."

Rodney hums noncommittally, feeling warm and sleepy still. It feels good to just let John hold him, and for a long moment they stand in the hallway. He mumbles against John's shirt, "I smell food," and John laughs, pulling him towards the kitchen.

There isn't furniture in there yet, but there is a counter. And it is covered with pizza boxes. Rodney cuts a look up at John, and John nods, handing him a paper plate. Elizabeth and Ronon are in the living room, sprawled out on the floor, Elizabeth looking up and saying, "There's beer in the fridge, too."

Rodney thinks about that for a moment, and then shrugs. He's pretty sure it might take the edge off the ache in his bones. A half second later John is pushing a bottle into Rodney's hands, and steering him towards the living room, loaded up with supplies.

He and John ease themselves down across from Ronon and Elizabeth, the sun just starting to sink outside. The drive had taken up most of the day, and Rodney eats his pizza while leaning back against John and watching the sunset outside of Elizabeth's huge bay windows.

Rodney swallows, and says, "I can hook your T.V. up for you."

Elizabeth blinks at him for a moment, and then shakes her head, "Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow," smiling at him softly. Rodney shrugs, taking a long drink of his beer, which goes surprisingly nicely with the greasy pizza, and rolling his eyes when it proceeds to overflow all over his fingers when he sets it down.

Rodney mumbles, around a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni, "So what'd I miss?"

* * *

Turns out, he didn't miss very much, except lugging boxes up three flights on stairs. As far as he's concerned, that's probably for the best. Though he is slightly bitter about not getting to see John lugging heavy things around. He likes doing that.

Rodney only realizes that he's probably had too many of the beers that kept getting pressed into his hands through the evening when he says that last thought aloud. He and John have both slid sideways at some point. Rodney thinks it was around when Elizabeth pulled Ronon to his feet and dragged him back towards her room while giggling and stealing kisses. He has his head on John's stomach, blinking up at the ceiling, fascinated by the way the traffic passing outside makes patterns with their headlights.

John shifts around, his hand not slowing the light strokes back through Rodney's hair when he asks, "You like doing what?"

Rodney shrugs, and manages to twist himself sideways, which means he's blinking at the underside of John's chin. He frowns, pushing up onto his elbows and then his hands, clumsily reaching for the beer he just upset and saying, distractedly, "Watching you. I like that a lot."

"Oh." John sounds surprised, but pleased, and he pulls at one of Rodney's arms, "That's good." Rodney smiles down at him, feeling John's thumb stroking across his skin. The near-dark of the room reminds Rodney of their bedroom, and he shifts around, moving slowly, because his equilibrium is totally fucked.

It doesn't matter when he finally manages to get himself arranged, sitting on John's stomach and beaming down at him, proud of himself for a reason he's forgotten. John says, "I like watching you too. I do it all the time," his hands are on Rodney's hips, his mouth curled up in a smile, his eyes dark and happy.

Rodney feels heat rise against his skin, a flood of warmth in his stomach. He leans forward, because he feels a little dizzy all of a sudden, bracing his hands on either side of John's head and blinking down at him. John makes a soft, hoarse, sound, his grip tightening on Rodney's hips.

For a long moment they just stare at each other, John's lips parted a little bit. Rodney swallows, and asks, because it's all he can think about suddenly, "At the fair. Were you going to kiss me on the ride?"

John's expression goes distant, just for a moment, his voice breathy and rough, "Yeah." One side of John's mouth is curled up into a smile, and he's moving his hands, just a little bit, up and down Rodney's thighs, always resettling on his hips.

Rodney can feel himself grinning like an idiot, reveling in the slow pulse of pleasure though his chest. He says, lowering himself down, elbows by John's head, chin resting on one hand, "Do you still want to?" All the warmth of John pressed against him is making it hard to think. Especially when John gasps a little, making a little whining sound in the back of his throat.

John nods, "Oh, yeah," and like he wants to prove it he turns his head to the side, pressing a kiss to the side of Rodney's arm. Rodney bites his bottom lip, his heart racing, He reaches out, tracing the curve of John's ear with one finger, feeling tingles up his arm and down his spine.

"Why?" Rodney's voice surprises him, because that isn't what he'd meant to say. But now that it's out there, he is curious. He blinks expectantly down at John, who holds his gaze, eyes dark and liquid and deep, expression going serious and intent.

John says, rubbing one hand up Rodney's back, "Cause I like you better."

Rodney frowns, trying to concentrate with the way John is rubbing his thumb back and forth right below Rodney's shoulder blade. It's not helping that he's so tired it's a struggle to keep his eyes open. Rodney pushes on anyway, tilting his head to the side, "Better than what?"

"Better than everything," John stares up at him, and Rodney has to remind himself to breathe. He has to duck his head down, tucking his face up against John's neck and hiding there, just for a while. John hums, rubbing his hand down Rodney's back again, pulling at the back of Rodney's shirt, and the press of their skin together makes Rodney shiver.

Rodney whispers, "Me too, me too for you." Rodney has to squeeze his eyes closed, his throat getting tight and weird. John shushes him, rubbing his palm up and down Rodney's spine. It's comforting, and it makes Rodney want to press back into it at the same time.

Right now, he can't remember why he shouldn't. He stretches up into the touch, and John makes a gasping sound, his other hand pushing under Rodney's shirt as well. Rodney wraps one arm around John's head, gripping at John's shoulder with his other hand, feeling too warm and too big to fit inside his skin.

John moans, and for a half second Rodney thinks maybe he weighs too much, maybe John's hurt. And then John is breathing against his hair, "Rodney," and pushing up against him. Nerves go crazy all over Rodney's body, and he twists his fingers in John's shirt.

And then Rodney's stomach does a weird twisting thing that feels nowhere near as good as the other weird twisting things had. Rodney pushes to the side, gagging, and John babbles something that Rodney can't really hear while Rodney pukes his guts out.

* * *

They end up sleeping in the bathtub. John comes up with the brilliant idea to turn the water on and just let it run over them somewhere around the third time Rodney throws up all over them. Rodney falls asleep to cold water beating down on his back, curled up against John, their clothes soaking wet, still feeling vaguely nauseous.

He wakes up to the lights coming on, sharp and blinding, and Elizabeth laughing at them. Rodney grumbles, turning his face away from the light, and John shifts with him, arms around him. The fact that he's shivering and can't seem to stop is what finally wakes Rodney up enough to get him to pull on John and together they manage to turn the tub off and stumble out, still soaking wet.

Luckily, Elizabeth packed towels, and she provides them with a bunch while they hang their clothes up out on her porch in the hope that they'll dry out a little bit. The towels don't really help with the shivering, and after a few minutes John stumbles his way down the hall and comes back dragging Elizabeth's comforter behind him.

He wraps Rodney up in it without a word, picks Rodney up when he's completely swaddled, and sprawls out beside him on the living room floor. Rodney manages to twist and grumble his way partially free of the blanket, throwing the excess over John, who mumbles something and buries his face against the blanket.

Elizabeth, drinking what Rodney thinks is her fourth cup of coffee, just shakes her head, sitting on the side of her counter. Rodney is blaming her for the pounding currently going on inside his head, so he ignores her and burrows closer to John instead.

He wonders how much John remembers of the previous night, and then shoves the thought away.

None of them really move until Ronon finally wanders down the hall. He has a sheet wrapped around his waist, bare chested, and Rodney blinks at the faint marks on the other boy's neck. Sitting up doesn't work so well while tangled up in the comforter, with John clinging to him, but Rodney makes an effort anyway.

He blurts, "Oh my God!" pointing at Ronon and Elizabeth, who blushes and ducks her head. She's wearing Ronon's shirt, and possibly his boxers too. Ronon just raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to kiss her, and Rodney flails again.

John pokes him in the side, grumbling, "Go back to sleep."

Rodney pokes back, and then forgets why he was so concerned about Ronon and Elizabeth. His head hurts. And he's cold. And John is right there. Rodney yawns, slumping back down and hoping that his head isn't pounding quite so badly when he wakes up again.

Somewhere far away, Elizabeth laughs.

* * *

By the time they actually manage to be awake in any useful way, it's nearly five in the afternoon. Their clothes are dry, but Rodney's shirt is missing, and the rest of their clothing smells...not exactly like roses. They pull them on anyway, John insisting Rodney take his shirt with constant little frowns at Ronon that Rodney decides not to ask about.

Apparently, they'd dropped the moving truck back off at the rental place while Rodney was crashed out yesterday. Elizabeth tells them to shower again, though it doesn't help much with the clothing situation, and then they're all cramming into her car for the drive back home. Rodney keeps catching John staring at him, which is only fair, because he keeps staring back.

Rodney really, really, wishes that Ronon and Elizabeth were somewhere else.

* * *

Elizabeth insists on buying them dinner when they finally get back into town, which, because of their clothing situation, ends up being a drive-thru. Rodney doesn't really mind, sitting outside the car, eating a hamburger and leaning against John. He's pretty sure it's a good sign that John still wants to lean against him. His stomach still feels kind of sickly nervous.

Ronon keeps getting distracted from his food, and Rodney focuses on that to distract himself. The other boy finally sets his sandwich down, tilting his chin up and taking a deep breath. Elizabeth touches his shoulder, and Ronon says, "Something smells wrong."

Rodney rolls his eyes, "Yes, we've been over that al—"

"Not you," Ronon pushes to his feet, Elizabeth rising after him and grabbing his hand. Rodney exchanges a look with John, who nods, and they stand together. Ronon is turning in a slow circle, doing his impersonation of a satellite dish, before stopping. He's staring at something down the street.

For a moment none of them speak, and then Rodney blurts, "So, are we talking wrong as in lutefisk or are we talking wrong as—"

Ronon interrupts, "It's the bug smell," and starts walking. Rodney reaches out to grab John's hand automatically, relaxing a little more when John squeezes back. Either John doesn't remember, or he meant it. Rodney doesn't have time to figure it out past that right now, not with Ronon and Elizabeth hurrying down the street.

John pulls on his hand, and Rodney nods up at him, managing a tight smile. They hurry after the others.

* * *

No one questions Ronon's senses. It would be stupid, and a waste of time. If he says he smells the bugs, then he does. The frustrating thing is that Ronon could probably smell them a mile away. They end up marching down a narrow alley, Ronon's head turning from side to side as he breathes.

And then Ronon is stopping, tilting his head up and backtracking to the metal stairway a dozen feet behind them. He starts up it without pausing, Elizabeth on his heels, John pushing in front of Rodney, keeping a hand around Rodney's wrist. The building is four stories, but Ronon stops on the third, staring at the white door for a moment before pushing it open.

Inside the building, it's dark and humid, and smells like rotting meat. Rodney's stomach, already not exactly feeling its best, almost rebels. He covers his mouth with his hand, trying to muffle the faint gagging sound he can't stop. John squeezes his wrist, shooting him a worried look.

Ronon is moving forward like he knows exactly where he's going and the temperature is dropping steadily, Elizabeth holding one hand over her nose. Rodney tries to imagine how bad it must smell to Ronon, and then pushes the thought away.

The floor creaks under them when they walk, and John steps in something that crunches, making a face. John twists around, whispering into the still, thick, air, "Can you get us some light?" And Rodney reaches out, pressing his fingers against the grimy, dirty, wall, and reaching out to the dormant electrical lines running through the building.

Ronon kicks open a door just as Rodney brings the lights up.

* * *

Elizabeth recovers first, while the rest of them are still staring openmouthed at the contents of the room. She says, "Oh, no way," momentarily taking her hand away from her nose, then making a face and returning it. Rodney nods mutely in agreement, gaping.

There are, well, Rodney doesn't know exactly what to call them. Eggs. Some kind of eggs, all over the ceiling and the walls of the room. They're sticky white, clumped together, dripping liquid the same consistency as snot down onto the floor.

John says, "Okay, that's just fucking weird," stepping forward and peering up into the room. Rodney presses up behind him, looking over his shoulder. On the floor there are lots of crushed shells, but no crushed little bodies.

Rodney turns to look at Ronon, "Are there more?"

For a moment Ronon doesn't reply, and then he nods, pointing at another door down the hall, and another. Rodney curses under his breath, pulling back to look at Elizabeth. She's already frowning, the temperature dropping again when she says, "You might want to step back."

John pulls Rodney to the side when Elizabeth steps forward, her hands balling up into fists and frost crawling up over her knuckles. She stands in the doorway, and the wall of cold that hits them is so severe that Rodney hisses, hiding his face against John's shoulders until it passes.

It's still chilly, even when she steps back, and the inside of the room is suddenly a winter wonderland. Rodney peers inside, the eggs frozen solid, the goo now shiny icicles. It is, oddly enough, almost pretty like this. Almost.

John clears his throat, says, "Well, one down," and starts down the hall. Rodney hurries after him, catching his hand and holding on. John smiles at him, tangling their fingers together, and Elizabeth makes a coughing sound, motioning expectantly at the door.

John slams it open, sketching a little half bow, and then yelling when a shit load of things pour out into the hallway.

Rodney shouts, John shoving him back against the wall, the chittering of the bugs scampering around them momentarily all he can hear. They swarm across the walls, up to the ceiling, all over the floor. Rodney catches sight of a dozen of the things swarming up Ronon's legs, the boy stomping on the ones by his feet, roaring in anger.

Elizabeth curses, loud, flash freezing all the ones of the ceiling, yelling at Ronon, "Stay still!" and solidifying the ones crawling on him. The bugs fall to the ground, where they shatter to pieces. John jerks to the side, batting wildly at the ones that are swarming over him, splattering blue blood everywhere.

One jumps on John from the wall, legs extended like some nightmare hug, aiming for his head. Rodney growls, grabbing it by the tail and ripping it off of John, slamming it into the wall and then stepping on it until it goes to mush.

And as quickly as it started, it's over. A few of the ones Elizabeth froze to the ceiling fall off, shattering with a bang. John is breathing hard, covered in bits of the bugs, looking a little wild around the eyes. Ronon is still stomping on the dead bodies, expression wild and angry.

Rodney grabs John when after a moment he keeps swatting at himself. John tries to shake him off, and Rodney pulls on him hard, yelling, "John! They're gone! They're dead, and you're fine!" and for the first time Rodney realizes that apparently the bug-thing actually is an issue. John looks at him, wild-eyed, and Rodney says softer, "They're gone. They're all gone, okay?"

John gasps in a deep breath, catching himself against the wall, and Rodney finds himself with an armful of the other boy, John breathing hard against his neck. Rodney shushes him, stroking his hair, and reminding himself to set up some kind of super flytrap back at the house.

For a long moment none of them say anything. Elizabeth steps forward, and points into the room, ice crystals forming briefly on her eyelashes. She says, her voice just a little shaky, "There's still one room left." She looks down the hall.

Rodney nods, disentangling himself from John carefully, "You stay here, okay? Watch our, uh, our back. Okay?" Elizabeth and Ronon are already standing outside the other door. John shakes his head hard, straightening up and grabbing Rodney's hand in a bruising grip.

John grits out, "I'm not leaving you," his eyes dark and huge.

Rodney thinks for a half second, staring across at John, the way his mouth is all pressed tight, the way he's gone pale. Then he nods at Elizabeth and Ronon, and says, "Well, I'll stay here then," it's not like he's very much use against the bug things anyway. He prays it's another egg room.

Ronon exchanges a look with Elizabeth, and then kicks the door open.

Rodney doesn't get to see what's in the room, because that's about when something jumps on his head.

* * *

The pressure around his neck is enough to cut off his air supply for a moment. Rodney jerks his arms up, trying to pull the thing off, feeling the long tail wrapping under his arm, feeling something wet and hot pressing against his ear. He screams, panicking, but not out loud.

There's pressure around his mind, pushing his thoughts down, writing over them. Rodney gags, trying to grab for the thing around his neck, but unable to control his arms. He can feel another presence inside his skull, like Teyla, but rougher, stronger, twisting him into the shape it wants and—

And it's over, just like that. Rodney blinks, finds himself on his knees, sucking in air. A half second later John is tilting his chin up, rubbing at the goo down the side of Rodney's face, yelling, "Holy fuck! Holy fuck! Rodney!"

There is fresh blue bug-goo all over John's hands. He looks panicked, and Rodney opens his mouth to explain that he's fine, that all it did was slobber all over him a little bit, and give him a headache. Elizabeth interrupts before he can say a word, her voice weird and flat, "Guys? I think you should see this."

Rodney exchanges a long look with John. They stand slowly.

* * *

John says, staring through the doorway, "Okay, this is just getting really fucking weird." Rodney nods mutely in agreement. This room is half full of eggs, two of the walls still bare, slime only starting to pile up on the floor. That hardly qualifies as weird anymore.

The weird part is the girl crouching in one of the corners. She doesn't look much older than them, her expression blank and distant, framed by stringy red hair. She's wearing some kind of loose dress, the fabric soaking wet from her hips down. Her knees are bowed out, and, as they watch, one of the white eggs falls to land with a soft, squishy, thump between her feet.

Rodney groans, "Oh, that's just—that's just gross," because he's fairly certain that pregnancy is traumatic enough all on its own. He didn't particularly need this image making it even worse for him to contemplate. That's not stopping it from happening.

Ronon rumbles, mouth pressed up against his arm again, "Freeze her too, let's go."

Elizabeth looks at him sharply, her mouth turning down in the corners. She's whispering, even though the girl shows no sign of realizing that they're in the room, "I am not going to freeze her." She looks a little offended just at the suggestion.

"She's making the bugs, what do you want to do with her?" Ronon is still staring at the girl, eyes flat and hard.

Rodney sighs, touching Elizabeth's elbow softly, keeping his voice low, "I think you and John should check some of the other rooms, okay?" And when John opens his mouth to protest, "Look, just let me and Ronon take care of her. You might—maybe you should go outside?"

For a moment Elizabeth and John just stare at him, Elizabeth looking shocked, John just upset. Rodney gets that they don't understand, he's not asking them to. But some things have to be done, and Rodney doesn't see any reason to hesitate over doing them.

John starts, "Would you stop doing—"

And that's about when the girl in the room jerks into a standing position, screeches at them, and charges them. Ronon lunges for her, and Rodney hears the sound her elbow makes connecting with Ronon's jaw, even if he doesn't see it happen.

Elizabeth makes a sharp sound, trying to catch Ronon when he goes down, and the girl grabs her, flinging her across the room. John grabs the girl, and she twists in his hold, hissing and clawing at his face, going for his eyes with a single-minded viciousness that's frightening.

Rodney throws himself at her, grabs her hair and yanks back hard, and then Ronon is there, one big hand braced against her chin, the other around the back of her head, twisting. The girl goes limp, John stumbling back a step. Rodney turns his head to the side and spits, yanking his fingers out of her lank hair, looking up and holding Ronon's gaze.

After a moment Ronon nods, and Rodney mirrors the gesture, turning and pressing one hand against the wall, frowning as he concentrates. Ronon is saying, "We need to go," walking into the room and grabbing Elizabeth, who is still slumped against the wall, one of her arms bent the wrong way.

Rodney can feel John staring at him, but for now he avoids meeting John's gaze, moving things until everything falls into place the way he wants it to. He takes a deep breath, and walks towards the exit. After a moment he hears John fall into step behind him, and then Ronon.

By the time they reach ground level again, smoke is pouring out of the window, flames licking up the side of the brickwork. Rodney watches it for a half second, and then turns, tucking his hands under his arms and just walking, because he can't be here anymore.

John catches him within steps, hand closing around Rodney's upper arm, voice thick, "Rodney, what is—"

Rodney twists his mouth up into something that doesn't feel like a smile, barking out a laugh and managing, "I don't walk with the angels anymore, John, remember?" And when John just stares at him he jerks away, saying softer, "I'm not sorry."

They take Elizabeth to the hospital, no one saying a word.

* * *

They're all of three steps into the emergency room when John's mother is there, her voice lined with stress, grabbing them both and talking fast, "It's okay, he's fine, he's just fine, the shield worked, oh God, thank you so much," and then she's hugging Rodney so tightly he can barely breathe. He freezes, wondering what the hell they missed.

John is, apparently, wondering the same thing, demanding, "What? What's going on? Mom?"

And, somehow, the last thing Rodney had expected was for her to start crying. John shoots him a panicked look, and Rodney pats at her shoulders, gesturing in the direction that he's pretty sure the nurse's lounge is. It's been a long time since he hung out in there, but he doubts they moved it.

John grabs his mother, supporting her and dragging her along. Rodney hesitates for a half second, and then John is twisting back, taking his hand and pulling him along as well. It makes some of the pressure in Rodney's chest ease, and he exhales shakily.

The nurse's lounge is right where Rodney remembers it being, and he pushes the door open. John manages to get his mother over to a couch, where she curls over her knees and wipes at her cheeks. John sits beside her, rubbing her back, and Rodney automatically pours her a cup of water, kneeling in front of her and giving her time to take it.

John asks, carefully, "Did something happen to dad?"

For a moment his mother says nothing, sipping at the water, still rubbing at her eyes. Then she swallows a deep breath, pushing her hair back from where it's come loose from her bun. She says, "No. No, he's fine. He. Someone tried to hurt him. But he's fine. The shield," she waves a hand, "He had the shield."

Rodney sits down on the ground, staring blankly forward, John making a tight, pained, sound. For a moment John just sits, hands balled up into fists in his lap, before asking, "What happened? Who tried—who did it?" his voice is curiously flat. Rodney wants to reach out to him, but restrains himself.

John's mother shakes her head, then squares up her shoulders, laughing hoarsely, "Look at me. It's ridiculous."

"Mom. Who was it?" John stands jerkily, pacing in a tight circle, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He's staring at the ground hard, and Rodney curls his hands up in his lap. God, he's so glad the shields worked. There'd been no way to test them, really.

For a long moment John's mother is silent again. Finally she sighs, "I don't know. One of the other officers. He killed—he—" and that's when the door slams open, and John's father bursts in, looking rumpled and out of sorts, but fine and alive.

John makes a choking sound, reaching for him, and his father says, "We've got problems."

Yeah, Rodney would say that they do.

* * *

##### Missing Scene Three

Ronon can see perfectly well in the darkened bedroom. There are boxes set in stacks around the room, the bed leaning against the wall, the mattress on the ground. The blankets are already messy. Ronon can smell Rodney on them, though the other boy's warmth faded from them hours ago.

Elizabeth twists back to look at Ronon, one foot braced on the mattress. She's smiling, looking up at him through her eyelashes, her hair tangled around her face. She has her fingers wrapped up in the hem of her shirt, twisting them back and forth while she watches him. He much prefers smelling her to anything else in this room, in this building, in this town, anywhere.

His gifts don't work on a level that anyone else seems to understand. Ronon has never been able to explain what she is, what he knows about her. He doesn't really want to. She smells like his, like the pieces that he's been missing his entire life.

At first, he had been confused by the way her attentions were distracted by another boy. It was so obvious to him, but he'd learned over the years that most of the things that were so clear to him were not so blatantly evident to others. She couldn't just know that they belonged together. No more than Rodney could smell how much John wanted him.

So he'd been patient. There'd been no way to ignore the way she called to him, but he'd made an effort not to push too hard. And when that bastard that had dared touch her had walked in smelling like another woman it had taken every bit of control that had been beaten into Ronon over the years to restrain himself from just beating the hell out of the other boy. But he'd controlled himself then, as well.

And now they are here, her scent filling up the room, want and desire surrounding him and leaving him feeling drugged. She swallows, licking her bottom lip, extending one hand to him, palm up, her eyes big and soft and gentle.

Ronon goes to her. Their fingers tangle together, hers small, thin, pale, cool, his large, thick, dark, warm. They are a study in contrasts, and for a long time he just examines the way their hands fit together. And then she takes another step back onto the mattress. He can feel the vibrations through the air when she adjusts her weight to stay balanced on the unsteady footing.

He looks up. She is still shorter than him, even with the extra inches the mattress gives her, but she is closer to his height now. She wraps an arm around his neck, the touch of her skin against his making him groan, the slow slide of her fingers across the back of his neck sending shivers down his spine.

Elizabeth smiles, softly, pulling on him just a little. Ronon sways towards her, caught up and tangled in her. Her kiss feels as though it might kill him, the taste of her on his tongue, bitter with alcohol but so sweet beneath. He flattens his hand on her back, feeling her heartbeat like his own, feeling her skin raise in gooseflesh, picking up the tiny vibrations through the air when her eyelashes flutter closed and she moans against his mouth.

They tangle together like that, the world going still and distant. Ronon loses track of the sound of traffic down below them. He can no longer hear the soft conversation Rodney and John are having out in the living room, or smell the thick, aching, surge of their want for each other. All that exists is Elizabeth.

When Elizabeth pulls back, Ronon slowly opens his eyes, watching her. Her skin is flushed red, he can hear the increasingly fast pounding of her heart, can taste her want for him. It's heady. He feels dizzy, and breathing deeply just pulls more of her into his system.

Before he can get completely lost, she is biting at her lips, tilting her face down and to the side when she grabs for the hem of her shirt again, pulling it up and over her head. She'd called it her work shirt, earlier, baggy and too big, nearly threadbare. It smells like her and her laundry detergent to the point that Ronon has to concentrate to tell what it's made out of.

He'd liked her wearing it. He likes it better now that she's not.

Ronon doesn't consciously remember stepping forward, but he's before her, bending to kiss and lick at the curve of her neck. Her skin is soft and slightly cool. Ronon rumbles, feeling her gasp. She grabs at his shoulders, supporting herself as he kisses out towards the edge of her shoulder.

By her bra strap, he pauses, nudging it with his nose. The cotton is dark against her skin, plain and unadorned. Elizabeth says, "Ronon," soft and throaty, and he slides a hand up her arm, hooking a finger in the strap by the dip of her collarbone and pulling it to the side.

When Ronon makes his way across to her other shoulder, he bends further, trailing his mouth over the swell of her breasts, feeling her gasp, her heart pounding like a freight train. He feels out of control, off balance, needy enough that it frightens him, or would, if he could think of anything beyond the here and now.

Ronon pulls the other strap off of her shoulder, and frowns when the bra doesn't just fall off. Elizabeth laughs, soft and breathless, taking her hands off of his shoulders. She grabs the bra under one of the cups, twisting it around, pulling clumsily at the clasps when she gets to them, making a soft, crowing, sound of victory when they give, and the bra tumbles down to the bed.

When he drops to his knees, nuzzling against the soft, smooth, skin between her breasts, she laughs at him. It's a delighted sound, and Ronon feels himself smile, turning his head to the side and pressing an experimental kiss to the slope of one of her breasts.

Her breath hitches, heard and felt, so he does it again. She's so soft here, firm at the same time, and her nipples are hard. Ronon blows breath across one and hears her moan, feels her fingers twist in his hair. She's shifting her feet constantly on the bed, like she can't be still.

Ronon circles the outer edge of her nipple with his tongue, running his hands up her back. She's so small, his hands fit perfectly against her shoulder blades. She leans before back into the touch, then jerks forward when he closes his lips around her nipple and sucks, just a little.

Elizabeth is making little gasping sounds constantly now, one of her arms wrapped around Ronon's head, like she's trying to hold him in place. He slides his own hands down, arms curling around her waist, thumbs tucking into the waistband of her jeans.

He stays there, determined to spend as much time as she'll allow him with his mouth on her skin, licking and sucking and listening to the sounds it pulls out of her throat. She's leaning heavily into him now, breathing in ragged gasps, her hips rocking against empty air in front of his chest.

When she shudders, Ronon pulls back, blinking, feeling like he's waking from a dream. Elizabeth's eyes are squeezed closed, her lips parted, cheeks and throat stained red. She sags down against him, going limp and sated, and Ronon takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting himself memorize this.

Elizabeth says, after a long moment, where he's cradling her against his neck, "Have you ever done this before?"

Ronon shakes his head, not even considering lying to her. He couldn't do this, with anyone but her, he doesn't think. Anyone else would have smelled wrong, would have tasted bitter and rotten on his tongue. She makes a soft, pleased, sound, and leans away from him.

She sinks down slowly to the mattress, keeping her gaze on him the entire way. Ronon watches, breathing hard, watching her slide her hands up over her ribs, down the tight skin of her stomach. She has to push her hips up to get her jeans over the swell of them, squirming back and forth on the mattress and then kicking them the rest of the way off with soft laughter.

Her panties are plain white, and wet. Elizabeth pushes herself up onto one elbow, her breasts shifting softly with the movement. Her voice is very soft, "Take your clothes off, it's okay."

For a long moment Ronon can't even look away from her, but then he manages a nod. He feels like he's burning up in the clothes anyway, tearing his shirt over his head and throwing it aside. Yanking his pants off is slightly more difficult, but he manages, even though the button goes spinning somewhere across the room, prompting another delighted laugh from Elizabeth.

And then he's naked. He slides down, stretching out beside her on the mattress, painfully aware of her, groaning helplessly when she arches up again, sliding off the last little piece of her clothing. Elizabeth rolls towards him then, wrapping an arm around his chest, bringing their naked skin into contact in all kinds of wonderful places.

They kiss deep and messily, lying on their sides, legs tangling together. When the head of his cock slides against her stomach, Ronon sucks in a deep breath, seeing sparks behind his eyes. She grins, pressing a kiss to his neck, rubbing up against him, pressing closer. He grunts, words nearly failing him, "I want—"

Elizabeth nods, kissing him again, her tongue slipping past his lips. She rolls, and Ronon follows, because he can't bear to be not touching her. He finds himself staring down at her, breathing raggedly while she winds her arms around his neck and shifts.

The insides of her thighs brush against Ronon's hips, and he gasps, biting his tongue hard. The way their bodies are pressed together he can feel her, hot and wet against him, his cock pressed against the curve of her hip. She says, "I want you to."

She does. He can almost taste how much she does, and there's no lie in her expression. It's nearly overwhelming for him to shift. His fingers feel stiff and useless when he tries to get where he needs to be. Elizabeth gasps when he accidentally brushes his fingers over the hot, wet, folds of her body, her hips rising into the touch.

Ronon completely loses track of what he had been doing. It seems slightly unimportant when he repeats the motion and she arches up against him, spreading her thighs wider. Ronon drops his forehead down to her shoulder, sucking on her soft skin, touching softly, listening to the way it makes her breath catch, the rising tension he can feel in her muscles.

She cries out, high and sweet, at the brush of his thumb. He's breathing hard, concentrating, trying to repeat the exact soft touches. She's rocking up against his hand, gripping at his shoulders, one of her knees hitching up.

When Elizabeth throws her head back, making a sound almost like a sob, he can feel all the muscles in under his touch jumping and twitching. Her scent is filling him up, want and need and sex. Sliding a finger into her just feels like the right thing to do, and she yells his name, her body clenching down around his finger.

Inside, she's hot and wet, tight. Ronon finally tilts his head to the side, sucking in desperate breathes, moving his hand with the slowed roll of her hips. After a long moment she reaches down, her thin fingers circling his wrist, her voice thick when she rasps, "Now, I want you to be in me now."

Ronon nods jerkily, sliding his finger out of her, shifting. She is watching him with dark eyes, her hair tangled and damp with sweat, her body spread out beneath his. Ronon gasps for breath, and eases himself into her welcoming body.

It doesn't seem as though it should all work, but he's watching it happen, so he can't really disbelieve it. Elizabeth moans, her hands gripping at his biceps, squeezing hard as he stares down at the place where they're bodies are joined together.

Around him, she is perfect and hot and wet and so tight Ronon can't breathe. She is all around him, in every single way that he can imagine. He can't think, he can't move, sure that this much pleasure will kill him.

And then she arches up, tangling one hand into his hair and pulling him down, kissing him sweet and needy. Ronon shouts, hoarse, body curling up over hers, unable to do anything but be tumbled by the force of his orgasm, shuddering, shaking, ripping apart.

Elizabeth holds him together through it.

* * *

##### Part Five

John's father lays it all out, flat and almost toneless, while they all sit in the nurse's lounge. Rodney listens with only half his attention, poking around at the microwave, fridge, cell phones, everything else around the room. When he has what he needs, he sits on the floor, piles it in front of him, and concentrates.

The officer that had gone on the rampage down at the station had a bug wrapped around his neck when he did. The four people he'd killed had all been in the cell with John's father, months ago, during the G.E.N.I.I. attack. And he would have ripped John's father limb from limb, thwarted only by the energy shield Rodney had given the man.

They had already known that officer Helms had been killed in the first attack at the lake. George Schlotterbeck had been a volunteer firefighter who had been on scene when the G.E.N.I.I. attacked. It's a pattern that Rodney isn't having a lot of trouble putting together.

He closes his eyes just for a second, working through the more complicated parts of the shield. It's easier to build it this time, to remember what he did initially and duplicate it. John's mother is saying, low and wretched, "The kids were there too, Regan. Are you telling me—"

John interrupts, his face in his hands, his voice muffled, "You don't have to worry anymore. It's over—" he cuts off with a ragged sound, "You don't have to worry anymore. We found the nest and, uh, destroyed it." John's voice is low and guttural. Rodney fights down the urge to go hold him. He isn't exactly sure it would be welcome, not after what he's done.

John's mother twists on the couch, "Oh, sweetie, there might be more, we can't just—"

"There was a girl there," John sounds wretched, the words bitten off, "That's where they, uh, that's where they came from. She—" John chokes, and then shakes his head, staring down hard at the floor, "She's dead now."

For a moment no one speaks, and Rodney takes a deep breath. He stands, the shield heavy in his hands, while John's father says, "What happened?" soft and gentle, his big hand wrapped around the back of John's neck, his eyes dark and worried. Rodney opens his mouth, because he won't make John tell them.

John never gives him the chance to speak, "It was an accident. There was a fire, and she was hurt. We couldn't get to her." John looks up, holding Rodney's gaze, and Rodney blinks, trying to read what, exactly, is going on behind John's eyes. "But she's gone now. And all the eggs."

"Eggs," John's mother makes a face, shaking her head. Rodney just stares at John, his heart pounding hard up against his ribs. John doesn't look angry. He looks tired, and confused, and lost, his hands hanging down between his knees. Rodney dares a small step towards him.

And John is on his feet just like that, grabbing Rodney by the shoulders and pulling him close. Rodney squeezes his eyes shut, John's skin warm under his hands. He wonders when someone's going to ask where John's shirt went. Right now he doesn't care.

John whispers against Rodney's hair, voice hitching, "They're all gone now. It's over, right?"

Rodney turns the new shield over in his fingers, and tosses it to John's father before holding John closer. And right now, after the day they've had, after everything that's happened, it just makes more sense to agree, no matter how much Rodney's gut insists that the worst hasn't happened yet. Rodney presses his face against John's shoulder, and says, "Yeah, it's over." Hell, maybe it even is. He can hope.

After a long moment, John's father sighs, "I really have to go see how bad the damage was."

* * *

It turns out that Elizabeth has a trick elbow, and the worst thing wrong with her was a knot on the back of her head. She and Ronon don't stick around, looking worn thin and stressed out when they walk away. Rodney thinks it's a good sign that they're still holding hands.

As though reading Rodney's thoughts, John chooses then to squeeze Rodney's hand. Rodney looks up at him, standing outside the hospital, and John leans down, pressing their foreheads together. For a long moment they stay like that, John wrapping one hand around the back of Rodney's neck, just leaning against each other.

When John speaks, his voice is almost a whisper, "I think we should go home, shower, and then..." he trails off, and then rallies, "And then talk. About last night." Rodney blinks up at him, and considering that John is swaying them gently from side to side, prays that he has a clue about which way the conversation is going to go.

He nods, "Yeah, I think—that's a good idea," he squeezes John's hand, and John smiles, just a little bit. Then they just have to wait for the bus to come to take them to the other side of town. They don't talk much on the ride home, but John keeps their fingers laced together, and relaxes just a little bit when Rodney rests his head against John's shoulder.

* * *

Apparently, neither of them had been counting on Teyla and Carson being camped out on the front steps. Teyla is across the yard the second she sees them, grabbing Rodney and shaking him hard before squeezing him tight. She doesn't say a thing, and Rodney wonders what he's been projecting at her to get this kind of response.

After a long moment she pulls back, slapping his shoulder, her jaw set when she says, "He is not going to abandon you," soft and scornful. Rodney ducks his head, blushing, and John wraps an arm around his shoulders, leading the lot of them into the house.

John says, "Look, we really need to, uh, do some things. Talk about some things. I mean." He's blushing as well, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet. Rodney bites his bottom lip against the relieved smile that's trying to break free.

Teyla looks between them, Carson poking around inside the fridge, and then says, "Rodney will shower first. There are things you and I must discuss. And then you will shower. And when you are done, Carson and I will leave." Her tone offers no room for disagreement.

Rodney shrugs at John, whose mouth is hanging open just a little bit. Rodney reaches out, squeezes John's wrist and murmurs, "She can out-stubborn us both." John frowns, but then sighs, nodding. Rodney hesitates for just a second before hurrying upstairs, and then leans forward, pressing a kiss to John's cheek and tripping over his feet all the way to the bathroom.

It's probably the fastest, most thorough, shower he's ever taken in his life.

By the time he makes it back to the kitchen, John is leaning heavily against the table, fingers digging into the edge of the wood. John is staring at the ground, and Teyla is making her intense face. Rodney hesitates in the doorway, clearing his throat after a moment, wondering why exactly Carson has been banished to the living room, but afraid to ask.

John jerks his head up, and his expression is all deep and soft. It makes Rodney's toes curl. Especially when John pushes away from the table, crowding Rodney back against the wall and just staring at him hard. Rodney swallows, not sure if he should smile or not.

John strokes his knuckles back across Rodney's cheek, tilting his head to the side, and then leans forward, his breath brushing across Rodney's ear when he says, "I meant what I said last night, Rodney. Better than everything." Rodney shivers, and John steps back, biting his bottom lip hard and bouncing in place before taking off for the stairs at a run.

Rodney blinks, slowing down his breathing enough to look at Teyla. He demands, "What did you tell him?"

Teyla just rolls her eyes at him, crossing the room gracefully to hug him. She says, carefully, "He cares for you very much. As you care for him. This nervousness you feel, it has no foundation." She hugs him again, and this time Rodney cautiously hugs her back.

They end up in the living room, Rodney staring at the show on the television without seeing a damn thing. When John finally comes thundering down the stairs, Rodney is on his feet in an instant. He regrets, fleetingly, that John felt the need to put a shirt back on.

Teyla and Carson stand just as quickly, exchanging a look and heading for the door. John yanks it open, and Rodney is sure that at any moment John is just going to pick them up and toss them out. He really wouldn't mind that happening at all.

Instead, they walk out under their own power, John waving and saying, "Please, please, don't call or something, okay?" voice strained and more than a little desperate. Rodney feels something in his stomach flip, edging another step closer to John.

Teyla laughs, already walking down the steps of the porch, calling over her shoulder, "You will be—"

Rodney only catches a flash of moment in the shadows of the porch out of the corner of his eye. Something moving fast, John shouting, and then yelping, something high and pained. Rodney is to him is less than a second, just as well when John's legs kick out, his heels drumming on the ground while Rodney tries to support the other boy's weight.

There's something thick and dark around John's neck, and Rodney curses, grabbing for the bug, furious because goddamnit they had been so—

John grabs him, fingers squeezing closed way too tight around Rodney's wrist and jerking his hand away from the bug. Rodney yelps, and they finally collapse to the ground, Rodney shouting, "John! John, stop!" and the grip around his wrist releases.

Teyla and Carson run up, just as John grabs Rodney, throwing him into the house and then slamming the door shut. Rodney lands against the coat rack, shaking his head, adrenaline pouring into his bloodstream. When he looks up, John is looming over him, eyes flat and blank, the legs of the bug wrapped around his neck, the thing's tail curled under his arm.

Rodney says, "It's going to be—" and his voice cuts off when John bends down, grabbing him by the neck and lifting him straight up. Rodney scrambles at John's hand, imagining all the blood at the campsite, at the farmhouse, hearing bodies torn apart in his head.

John stares up through him, eyes eerily empty, and Rodney jerks in his grip, spots swimming up behind his eyes. And then John drops him, walking around him towards the stairs. Rodney rubs at his throat, sucking in desperate swallows of air, pushing to his feet.

He can hear, now, Teyla and Carson banging on the door. For the moment he ignores it, making himself move, dragging himself up the stairs, his mind jumbled together and thick with panic. He slides into their room just as John straps on the flight belt, and throws himself out the window in a shower of broken glass.

Rodney yells, something wordless, barely feeling himself cross the room, watching John shoot into the sky, his throat tight and his stomach sick.

Rodney pounds the wall hard, spinning around, tripping over the steps on his way back to the first floor. Teyla and Carson are still pounding on the front door, and Rodney sends Teyla panicked, half-formed thoughts, trying to make her understand.

And then he's in the garage. It takes less than a thought to get the garage door up, and the door of the Charger swings open before he reaches it, the engine roaring to life. Rodney throws himself behind the wheel, the door slamming closed as he slams it into reverse, the door opening again right as Teyla and Carson run up. Rodney snaps, "Get in!" when they hesitate.

They do.

Rodney braces his hands on the dashboard, tips his head back, and they're out of the driveway, tires screaming against blacktop, fishtailing for just a second before they're lurching forward. Carson yells, "Where the hell are we going?" scrambling at his seatbelt, voice drenched in panic.

Rodney doesn't answer, reaching out ahead of them, shoving other cars off the road, stalling their engines, locking their doors. All around him he can hear the engines, and in the corner of his brain, moving so quick he can barely track it, he can feel the flight belt.

The Charger roars through the streets, Rodney sinking down into it, pushing faster-faster-faster down the path he's cleared. He feels it when the flight belt lands and shuts off, and holds the place he last felt it tightly, hurrying towards it as quickly as he can.

They take a turn sharp, Teyla and Carson tumbling across the back seat, Rodney making himself handholds in the dashboard and holding on. He thinks they might be across town, and then there, the flight belt is right in front of them.

Rubber goes everywhere when Rodney stops, the car spinning in a tight three-sixty and rocking back and forth on its shocks. Rodney is already out the door, only distantly aware that he's at the police station, and really, that shouldn't be a surprise.

He takes the steps two at a time, Teyla yelling behind him, steadying Carson on his feet, "Rodney! He is not himself! He will kill you!"

Rodney shakes his head, sparing her just a look, feeling his smile stretch wide and dangerous, "No, no he won't." She opens her mouth, eyes huge and dark, dragging Carson forward, and Rodney says, softer, to himself, "He won't," and steps over the shattered doors, following the crashes and the screams.

Everyone else is going the other way, heading towards the door, and Rodney shoulders his way through the crowd. Someone tries to grab his arm, a man that Rodney doesn't really see, barking, "You can't go—" and Rodney just doesn't have time for this. He waves a hand, the cellphone in the man's pocket stabbing down into the thick muscle of his thigh. The man releases Rodney with a choked on scream. Carson is behind him. Rodney doesn't worry.

He takes another turn, feet sliding on the rubble in the hall, and his breath catches.

John is at the end of the hallway, drawing his fist back and slamming it down onto the outside of the shield Rodney built. Rodney can see John's father, protected behind the faint green light, yelling into his radio. John draws back again, and Rodney can see the shield fluctuate, wonders how long it's been on, wonders if there's any way for him to boost its lasting power.

Rodney makes himself keep running, even though his lungs are screaming, yelling, "John!" even though he doubts it'll get any response. It catches John's father's attention, anyway, and he looks up, his eyes going wide when he sees Rodney.

Whatever John's father yells is swallowed by the shield, but he looks anguished. Rodney just smiles grimly, sliding to a stop beside John, who is pulling his fist back again, his expression blank and empty. Rodney grabs John's arm, throwing his weight backwards, knowing that he can't pull John anywhere.

John shakes his arm, like he's dislodging a pest, and the wall really fucking hurts when Rodney hits it. Rodney shakes his head, John's father yelling mutely on the other side of the shield. John punches it again, and then scowls, reaching down and grabbing the whole thing, shaking it around violently. Inside, John's father slams back and forth, and Rodney thinks, mind feeling just a little fuzzy, that that's a very real design flaw. He'll have to fix it in the next model.

Rodney pushes to his feet, shaking his head again. John is still scowling at the shield, trying to crush it between his arms, expression almost managing frustration when he doesn't succeed. And then he's twisting, hurling the entire thing to the right, where it slams through a door and then into a wall. John's father bounces off the inside of the shield, and then collapses.

Rodney feels something twist in his chest, and grabs John desperately when he starts for the shield.

This time John makes a frustrated sound, whirling on Rodney, fist drawn back. Rodney blinks, and exhales, staring into John's blank eyes, feeling John's knuckles where they're kissing against his cheekbone. John is trembling from the strain, his other hand closed tight around Rodney's shoulder, frozen like that.

Rodney says, soft, "John? Can you hear me?"

For a moment nothing changes at all, and then Rodney feels John's fingers extend, stroking up the line of his cheek. John's voice comes out twisted and choked, halting, "Rod-ney," each syllable obviously a struggle.

Rodney laughs, the sound half-crazed even to him, nodding just a little bit, rubbing his cheek against John's fingers, "That's right. That's right, I'm Rodney. And you don't want to do that. Please, whatever this is doing to you, you can beat it. We're supposed to be talking, remember? About last night?"

John's expression remains blank. He's just stroking at Rodney's cheek, staring, like he's stuck in a loop. Rodney says, "Okay, okay. Maybe I should just start then? I was, uh, kind of planning to just say this, actually." The room seems to have a lot less air than it just did. Rodney struggles for a deep breath, gives up, and leans forward instead.

John doesn't budge. Not when Rodney carefully raises a hand, running his fingers back through John's hair. Not when Rodney shifts in close, until he can feel John's breath against his lips. Rodney closes his eyes, and tilts his head just a little to the side, pressing his mouth up against John's.

It's dry, just a brief press really, a tiny piece of what Rodney has wanted for so damn long. Rodney swallows heavily, his eyes slowly sliding open, shifting back just enough to scan John's eyes for any sign that he's there, somewhere. He whispers, "John?" nervously shifting his weight, praying for something, anything. "This is where you kiss me back."

And then, because he has nothing else to lose, Rodney leans forward again, sucking lightly on John's lower lip.

John shakes against him, exhaling raggedly, his hand jerking up. Someone screams, far away, but Rodney ignores it because John is grabbing the body of the bug around his neck, ripping it off, squeezing it down to goo and then throwing it at the wall.

Rodney blinks at him. There's a slick of gross, sticky stuff down the side of John's face that's the only sign of the passenger he had. Rodney takes a bracing breath and looks up to John's eyes, and swallows when John blinks, shaking his head, voice coming out thick and slurred, "Rodney."

"Yeah, yeah, John, I'm right here," so close it doesn't quite seem real. John opens his eyes slowly, scanning Rodney's expression, eyes dark and with life behind them again. Rodney feels himself holding his breath, even though he tries to tell himself not to.

John strokes Rodney's cheek again, whispering into the negligible distance between them, "I—really? This?" so soft and full of wanting that it makes something in Rodney's chest ache. He strokes his hand up and down John's arm.

Rodney nods, "Yeah, this. This a lot." John smiles, something bright and huge, abruptly sobering, his hand curving around the back of Rodney's head, pulling him a little closer. For a long moment they stare at each other, and then Rodney closes his eyes and leans in again.

And it's about a thousand times better with John kissing him back.

John pants against his lips, "Oh, god," ragged and rough, his other arm circling Rodney's back, tugging him closer until they're all pressed up against each other. Rodney nods, noses bumping, finding each other's mouths again, Rodney's arms winding around John's neck.

He's definitely counting this one as the first kiss. John blurts, "I wanted—I've wanted this so long," like he can't stop himself, dropping fast kisses across Rodney's cheeks and forehead, back to his mouth, "Forever. God, tell me this isn't a joke."

Rodney slides his hands around, cupping John's face and slowing him down, the kiss turning into something long and sweet. When he pulls back, John's eyes are half-lidded, his mouth reddened, and Rodney says, "Me too, John. Since you sat beside me on the bus." And kisses John again.

It seems like it takes a long time before Rodney remembers where they are. Or why they're there. He shakes himself, stepping away from John, who makes a protesting sound and pulls him back, kissing him again, like he doesn't want to ever stop.

Rodney laughs, twisting away, spinning back to plant a kiss on the corner of John's mouth, babbling, "Your dad, I've got to check on," and he waves a hand, which John catches, kissing at his fingers. Rodney can feel himself grinning helpless, sure that the shield should have at least dampened the force of the impact to the point that John's father shouldn't be badly hurt.

John follows him across the room, and the one time Rodney looks over his shoulder John has his gaze dropped, something hungry and wanting in his expression. It makes Rodney bounce a little, makes him wave huge at Teyla and Carson, who appear to be frozen in shock a few feet away.

John's father is lying on his side, but he is breathing, and there's no blood. Rodney feels another little burst of relief, turning to smile at John again, and Teyla screams, "No!" just as Rodney steps through the door.

Oh. So that's what Jeannie meant.

* * *

John can't quite feel the ground under his feet. The day feels like it's moving too fast, one thing after another slamming down on them. But none of it matters, not one single thing, not when he can still feel Rodney's lips pressed against his.

Teyla screams, going to her knees, and John feels the giddiness that had been buoying him tear apart. In the doorway, Rodney sways, one hand groping out for the doorframe and missing. He steps backwards, his knee giving out, and John catches him before he can fall, lowering him gently to the ground, distantly aware that Teyla is wailing, screaming like she's dying.

Or, John supposes, like someone who she's connect to is dying.

John tries to curse, but nothing will come out of his throat. Rodney blinks up at him, and then raises his head, staring at the handle of the knife sticking out of his chest with a faintly puzzled expression. One of Rodney's arms comes up, and he wraps his bloody fingers around the wood before John catches him and manages to stop him from pulling it out.

John's words all come back in a rush, hoarse and choking, "Carson. Carson! Help me! Hey, hey, you're fine, you're fine, Carson is right here, you're going—Carson! Stop, you can't take the knife out, it's—Carson! Get over here!"

There's blood all over John's hands, wet and sticky, and somehow he only realizes then that he's patting at Rodney's chest, not sure where to push to keep all the blood in. He's breathing way too fast, Rodney flailing a hand out, grabbing John's fingers and squeezing so weakly that John sobs.

Rodney's mouth twists up, pain warping his expression, and Carson is there, sliding down to his knees, pushing John to the side, flattening a hand on Rodney's chest. Teyla is in a pile on the floor, her body hitching with sobs, her arms wrapped tight around her chest.

John feels like he's trapped in a nightmare, able to see everything but not able to stop any of it. He grabs Rodney's hands, squeezing, babbling, "You're going to be fine, Carson is here, you're going, oh God, you're going to be fine," he has to be fine. This can't be happening.

Rodney shakes his head, tears running out of the corners of his eyes, blood out of the corner of his mouth. His teeth are red with it, and he mouths something, no sound behind the movement. John recognizes his own name well enough. John rocks himself back and forth, "No, no, no, no, no," and he can't tell if he's screaming or whispering. It doesn't matter.

Carson is yelling, words that John doesn't understand, shoving John away again, wrapping his hands around the knife and pulling it out. Rodney bows up, his eyes rolling back in his head, blood pouring out of the wound, out of his mouth, and he's got to be drowning in it.

John watches Carson's hands stain red with blood, watching the healer's mouth move as he holds his hands down on Rodney's chest. But Rodney is going still, his hand in John's going limp, lifeless. John can't breathe, staring down at Rodney's face, gone slack and loose, his mouth and chin stained red with blood, his eyes open and sightless.

Someone touches John's shoulder and he shoves them away, curling over Rodney, babbling words he can't hear through his aching chest. And then something pops, and he can hear himself, "—leave me, I will find you. I will come for you—" and he can feel Carson, stroking his hair and back, crooning to him softly.

Teyla is flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling, breathing fast and shallow, her legs and arms writhing. Carson is babbling, thick voiced apologies, and Rodney is still. And dead. John gasps, pressing kisses to the boy's forehead and cheeks, not sure who to damn.

And there's a slow, heavy, clap from the doorway.

John looks up slowly, feeling himself shaking, tears running down his cheeks. He knows Kolya, the big man leaning against the wall with a smile on his face, the scar Rodney put on his neck lighter than the rest of his skin.

The man says, when John looks at him, "I did get so tired of you children sticking your noses where they didn't belong," calm and even. There's no blood on the man's hands. Not on his clothes. Nothing. But there's an empty sheath for a knife at his hip.

John stands stiffly, his mind curiously blank all of a sudden. He's not sure he can breathe. It doesn't matter. He has no reason to breathe. John tilts his head to the side, blinking at the man, asking just to make sure, "You did this? You killed him?"

The man sighs, "They say when you want something done right...and he just wouldn't stay out of my business," and he grins.

John stares at him, then looks down at himself. He's covered with Rodney's blood, it's already starting to dry stiff and tacky on his hands. He says, his voice flat and foreign to his own ears, "I'm going to kill you now. You can run, if you want."

Kolya laughs, throwing his head back, and John is on him just like that. It's nothing to pull the man's arm out of the socket at the shoulder, to break both of his legs with two sharp kicks. John wraps his hand around the man's throat, digging in until fresh blood soaks his fingers, twists, and slams Kolya down to the ground hard enough to break ribs.

The man isn't laughing anymore, his eyes wide with pain and fear. John stares at him, covers the man's face with his hand, and squeezes. Bones break under his fingers, and Kolya tries to scream, something tight and cut off when his jaw shatters.

When John is done, there's gray matter leaking out across the floor. He stares down at the dead man, wiping his hands absently on the man's shirt. John turns slowly to look back at Rodney, at Carson, who is staring at him, mouth open and eyes huge, at Teyla who suddenly jerks at the same time Carson does.

John demands, "What?"

But they both ignore him, Carson bending over Rodney, replacing his bloody hands on Rodney's chest. Teyla yells, "Do not let him go!" dragging herself forward, wrapping her hands around Rodney's head and pressing her forehead against his, making a tight, pained sound.

"What? What the hell is going on?" John feels like he's panicking, all of a sudden, the blank emptiness gone as quickly as it appeared. He wraps his hand around one of Rodney's ankles, and startles when he feels the slow pound of a pulse.

Carson throws his head back, his face bright red with strain, yelling up to the ceiling. And Rodney coughs, bowing up off the ground, screaming, the sound changing to hiccupping sobs. John stares, Carson toppling over backwards, Teyla sagging down, her shoulders shaking.

Rodney is alive. John crawls up to him, babbling senseless words, smearing the blood on Rodney's face around, trying to get Rodney to focus on him. And then Rodney does, his eyes wide and blue and his expression all twisted up with pain, but he's alive.

Carson croaks, his voice rough and slurred, "He's—he's still hurt. Couldn't—all the way—too much—" When Carson goes quiet, it's accompanied by his eyes rolling back up in his head, and John tries to worry about it, but he just can't.

It's more important to scoop Rodney up, Rodney making a tiny whimpering sound. John promises, "It's okay, you're going to be fine," and runs through the station. There's an ambulance outside, a bunch of them, loading up people that John only vaguely remembers throwing around, and he yells, "Help me! Help me please! He's dying!"

* * *

The next few hours are a blur. John dimly recalls going back inside to check on his father after they refused to let him ride in the ambulance. He knows that he carried Teyla and Carson out as well, both of them unconscious and frighteningly still. He knows that his father took one look at Kolya and didn't say a thing, not a damn thing until John broke down and stuttered his way through an explanation that Rodney had died but wasn't dead anymore and they wouldn't let him drive along to the hospital.

John knows at some point in there his father had picked him up, and carried him out to one of the cruisers, and driven with the sirens on all the way to the hospital.

And then there's a lot of waiting. John sits with his head in his hands until his parents both come back and take him to one of the private bathrooms with a shower. The blood swirls around the drain, and for some reason that clenches John's stomach into a hard ball, and he barely manages to make it to the toilet before he's sick.

They give John clean scrubs to change into, and he ends up back in a waiting room, head in his hands again. His parents sit beside him, but John is only barely aware of them. His mind is a maelstrom of thoughts that he can't swim through. He's trying to process everything, and not managing to process anything, overloading.

When the doctor finally comes out, John's mother sidelines him. John stares at the ground, hearing her voice but not really making sense of the words. He lost Rodney once tonight. He can't lose him again. Not ever, John thinks.

And then his mother is kneeling in front of him, squeezing his knees and saying, "John, he's going to be fine, he lost a lot of blood, but he's fine," and John sobs with relief, just once before he cuts the sound off in the back of his throat.

He manages, hoarse and cracking, "Can I see him?"

* * *

When they let John in, Rodney is standing by the foot of his bed, arguing with an orderly, "—don't understand! I have to see him, he—" Rodney cuts off when John steps through the door, pushing around the orderly and stumbling towards John.

And John hears himself make a sound like he's breaking, crossing to Rodney, wrapping him up, holding him as tightly as he dares. The orderly starts to open his mouth, and John stares at him hard. Whatever is showing in John's expression must make some kind of impression on the man because he raises his hands, and makes a beeline for the door.

Rodney is babbling, "Oh, god, John, John, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," and John pulls back just enough to tip Rodney's chin up enough to kiss him. For a moment Rodney keeps right on talking against John's mouth, and then he melts into it, fisting his hands up in John's hair, holding on.

After a long moment, Rodney starts trembling, pulling back to gasp for breath, and John curses under his breath. He picks Rodney up, carrying him back to the little hospital bed, and, after a second's hesitation, crawling in beside him.

There's a thick pad of bandages over Rodney's heart, and John rests his hand over it, curling his body up around Rodney's, kissing him again. Rodney makes a soft sound against John's mouth, arm snaking around John's shoulders, whispering into the space between them in between kisses, "I died. Oh, fuck, John. I was dead."

John nods, because he can't say the words, but he knows it was true. He kisses Rodney again instead, threading the fingers of their free hands together and squeezing. John murmurs, the words pouring out before he can stop them, "But not anymore. Don't go where I can't follow you again. Please don't."

Rodney blinks up at him, and almost smiles when he says, "I'll try not to," and John has a sinking feeling that's the best he's ever going to get. He curls closer to Rodney, letting Rodney pull him down, pressing kisses to all the skin he can reach until he feels Rodney slip down into sleep.

And then John pushes up, just enough to see Rodney's face. Sleeping he doesn't look anything close to the way he looked dead, and the relief of that burns through John's blood. He presses his lips to Rodney's forehead, and stays there, listening to him breathe.

Later, they will have to talk about what happened. Later, John will have to explain what he did, and he'll expect an explanation on how Rodney isn't dead anymore then, too. But for now, John can't bring himself to give a fuck.

This is enough.

* * *

##### Missing Scene Four

They can't keep Rodney in the hospital forever, no matter how confused they are over the amount of blood he lost, or some of the strange things that are turning up on their scans. They all know about healers, of course, but there's a big argument about how they need to be able to study the effects of Carson's gift on people with wounds as severe as his had been, in the pursuit of understanding how it happened.

Rodney doesn't particularly fucking care about their EKGs, tests, poking and prodding. He has no interest in being a case in one of their medical textbooks. He just wants to go home. John makes it happen, and that's all that matters right at the moment.

John's parents linger around the front hallway when John helps Rodney up the stairs. Rodney means to say something to them. A thank you. Possibly an apology. But he just can't, shivering again, the way that he can't seem to help since Carson and Teyla brought him back.

John says, "I've got you," soft and sure, his arm around Rodney's waist, walking him to their door.

The window in their room has been boarded over. All the broken glass is gone, and John winces when he looks at it, going pale. Rodney says, "Hey," and turns John back to him, away from the window, kissing him soft and slow.

After a long moment John groans, pulling away just far enough to whisper, "The doctors said you have to rest." John cuts a look towards the bed and Rodney feels something in his stomach flip. He kicks his shoes off and sits himself down on the edge of the mattress.

When he looks up, John is staring, hands fisted up by his sides, breathing faster than he had been a second ago. Rodney tips his chin up, twisting his fingers into the sheets by his hips and trying not to sound as shaky as he feels, "You too, come here."

John is to him in less time than it takes Rodney to blink, bending over in front of him, one hand braced on the bed by Rodney's hip, curling his other hand around the back of Rodney neck, breathing, "I want—" all dark eyes and intensity.

Rodney says, "Yeah," and John makes a rough sound, kissing him. Rodney falls into it, his hands finding their way to John's arms, sliding up to his shoulders, fingers clenching in John's t-shirt. It's so hard to think about anything beyond this. Rodney stops even trying, instead pulling on John, trying to get him closer.

John groans against Rodney's mouth, and when Rodney leans back, John comes with him. The mattress feels different, somehow, against Rodney's back. Or maybe that's just John's weight and warmth spread over him, twisting the world into something new and wonderful.

They've stopped kissing. John is just staring down at him, expression open and awed. Rodney feels his skin go hot, winding his arms around John's shoulders and pulling himself up enough to kiss the corner of John's soft smile. That gets things back on track.

They're only half on the bed, and Rodney is sure he should probably scoot up or something. But he doesn't want to move, not when John is bracing an elbow by his head, his other hand tangling in Rodney's curls, kissing him, pressing him down into the bed.

John rubs against him, solid warmth in all kinds of places that feel perfect, and Rodney gasps, grasping tighter at John's shoulders. When John rises up just a little, Rodney whimpers in loss, trying to pull him back down.

John is breathing raggedly, his cheeks flushed and his mouth red when he pants out, "Am I too heavy? Should I—"

"No. No, come back, I need—" and it's just as well John is kissing him before Rodney can finish the thought, because he doesn't know what he would have ended with. John shifts around, getting one knee on the bed by Rodney's hip, then making a frustrated sound when that separates their bodies and taking it off again.

Rodney feels like he might be going insane, lost in the feel of John's mouth, his body, needing more, and only vaguely sure what that more might be. He groans, tugging at John's shirt, and then deciding that John leaning back to take it off would be a bad thing. He works his hands up under the back instead, and John makes a ragged sound, grinding down against him hard.

And, okay, in the hospital Rodney had felt John's erection when they'd kissed. In the police station, too, though he hates even thinking about that. But not like this, hard against Rodney's hip, hot through the layers of their clothes. John must be able to feel Rodney's as well, poking against him, and the thought of it, that it's okay, that it's good, is enough to make Rodney kiss John more desperately, arching his spine up and trying to rub his whole body against John's.

In an amazing, perfect, wonderful, turn of events, John appears to be completely onboard with that. He sucks at Rodney's tongue, just briefly, hips pushing down. Rodney hears himself say John's name, though he barely recognizes his own voice, breathy and tight, wondering how they went from standing in the doorway to this in under a minute.

Then John is rasping, "Yeah, Rodney, oh God," and shuddering over him. And that's John coming. That's John getting off. Rodney can just feel it against his thigh, can feel it in the way the muscles in John's back and shoulders tense up, and it's-it's-it's—

Rodney squeezes his eyes shut, clinging to John, trying to pull him down even further when he comes.

It's so much better than beating off. Especially the way John is just sagging down on him, breathing heavy and hot against the side of Rodney's neck, pressing kisses to the tingling skin there every now and then, murmuring almost silently, "Rodney, Rodney, Rodney, Rodney."

* * *

When they can finally move again, they disentangle themselves slowly. Rodney can feel himself blushing, especially when John steps out of his jeans. There's a big wet spot on the front of John's underwear, and after a moment Rodney realizes that he isn't sure if he should be looking at John's underwear or not, and drops his gaze to the floor.

Rodney ends up squirming out of his own pants, just to take his mind off of all the questions he has, and then pulling his socks off because he feels weird having them on all of a sudden. He curls his toes up, his own wet spot starting to go uncomfortably cool against his thigh, and John says, voice low and hesitant, "Do you want—I mean—do you want something else? To sleep in?"

Rodney looks up at him, forgetting momentarily to be embarrassed. John is standing by their dresser, already wearing new underwear. He looks rumpled, his hair a mess, his mouth still reddened from where Rodney was kissing him, his shirt twisted oddly around his arms. For a moment Rodney forgets what the question was. Hell, for a moment he forgets there even was a question.

Then he shakes himself, and nods. John smiles, really big, before blushing brilliantly and ducking his head down. He tosses Rodney a pair, and Rodney holds them for a moment, twisting them in his fingers before biting his bottom lip and managing, "Could you, I mean, maybe you could," he trails off, biting his bottom lip.

But John must understand him anyway, eyes going wide before he blurts, "Yeah, sure. Of course," turning to look at the wall. Rodney can feel himself blushing, kicking off his old boxers and almost falling over when he tries to pull the new ones on. He curses under his breath, and dives under the covers, hoping they'll hide the way he's pretty sure his entire body has gone red.

Rodney keeps his face buried in the pillow, twisting just enough to the side to mumble, "John? I'm cold," which is a lie, a horrible, huge, bold faced lie. He feels warm, bordering on hot, but he wants John to curl up beside him again.

Before he can spend too much time feeling guilty about it, John is there, sliding under the blankets, and hesitating for just a second before Rodney pushes into his space. And then John relaxes all at once, pulling Rodney close, snugging up behind him, until they're pressed together all over.

Rodney swallows, reaching back to grab John's hand and putting it on his stomach. The touch makes the muscles there jump, the way it always does, and Rodney shivers, pushing back against John's chest just because he's always wanted to. He says, his voice coming out weird, "Do you—the pillow?"

"No!" John's voice is surprisingly vehement and Rodney twists his head around as best he can to blink at the other boy. John tightens his hold on Rodney's waist, sliding one of his legs forward, until his knee is kind of almost between Rodney's. "I mean, no. No, I like this." And Rodney feels himself helplessly grinning, because he likes this too.

Rodney says, softer, feeling heavy and warm and content now, with John all wrapped around him, "I'm really tired."

John nods, squirming around just briefly, pressing his cheek up against Rodney's neck and then settling. He says, rubbing little tiny circles on Rodney's stomach, "You sleep for a while, okay? I'll be right here," and Rodney hums, falling asleep fast and deep.

* * *

Rodney wakes up feeling warm, content, and tingly. He moans, surprised by how loud it sounds in the quiet room, when John presses a kiss to the line of his neck. The skin there already feels sensitive, and John makes a tiny little pleased sound, nosing up into Rodney's hair and kissing the skin behind Rodney's ear. Rodney gasps, "Oh, god," grabbing at John's arm, still wrapped around his waist, trying to push further back against John.

John mumbles, voice muffled against Rodney's skin, "Sleep well?" He has himself propped up on one elbow, Rodney realizes after a moment, his arm tucked under Rodney's head. Rodney nods, though he can't really even remember being asleep at this point. He can feel John's smile against his skin, "Good."

Rodney twists his head back, gasping when John's fingers on his stomach slide down, skimming across the waistband of his boxers. John goes still, raising his head enough to meet Rodney's gaze, asking carefully, "No?"

Wasting time thinking about that question would just be irredeemably stupid. Rodney tightens his grip on John's wrist, pushing minutely down, his voice almost a whisper when he says, "Yes." John is still staring at him, so Rodney gets to see the way the other boy bites his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes shut for a long second, groaning loud.

John presses tight up against Rodney's back, and kissing him puts a weird strain on Rodney's neck, but it's worth it anyway. He can feel the slight tremble in John's body. He can feel the pads of John's fingers sliding under the waistband of his boxers. He can feel John's dick, hard, pressing up against him. God, it keeps surprising him how much he likes that.

Rodney feels the first brush of John's fingers against his cock like a jolt of electricity, Rodney gasping in surprise. It's...different, feeling someone else touching him like this. Definitely different good. John makes a low sound, kissing across Rodney's jaw, down to his throat, his hips rocking as he slides his fingers up the underside of Rodney's dick.

Rodney doesn't realize that he's saying John's name, over and over, just tumbling out of his mouth, until John murmurs against his neck, "I'm right here, Rodney, I'm right here, I've got you," thick and broken up with the way he's breathing hard.

For a moment Rodney tries to swallow the sounds back, but he can't. Especially not with John rubbing his thumb over the head of Rodney's dick, stroking up and down. It's a little clumsy, and their skin catches, but God, Rodney doesn't even care. He jerks forward into the touch, turning his face against John's arm.

John moans, sucking at the skin in the juncture of Rodney's neck and shoulder, pulling Rodney back against him, keeping them pressed tight together. Rodney reaches back, fisting a hand in John's hair and holding on, his body arching helplessly.

The sound John makes when Rodney presses back against him, surprised and pleasure drunk, goes straight down Rodney's spine. Rodney makes a hoarse sound, pressing back harder, rocking forward, jerky and without rhythm.

Apparently John doesn't mind, gasping, "Oh, oh, Rodney," like he's breaking, the ragged motion of his hand speeding up. And that's perfect, that's beautiful, that's the best thing ever. Rodney grunts, stretching one leg up and back, hooking his foot behind John's knee and pulling the other boy's leg forward, locking them closer together.

Rodney demands, breathless and feeling like he's pulling apart at the seams, "Kiss me, John, I—" and John is there, making a desperate sound, hips grinding against Rodney while he kisses Rodney messy and deep. Rodney feels his body jerk, overwhelmed, lost in all the sensation, coming over John's fingers.

John makes a wild, gasping noise, body tensing up, hips jerking forward hard, but Rodney barely feels it, more aware of the way everything has suddenly gone completely dark and quiet. He tries to make himself focus, breathing shakily, all tangled up in John, and doesn't have very much success.

Especially not with John humming contentedly, shifting enough to pull Rodney onto his back. John beams down at him, leaning over Rodney, ducking down to kiss him. Rodney groans, because this angle doesn't hurt his neck at all, kissing and kissing and kissing until he manages to gasp out, "Street lights are out. And—God, John—everything, everything is out, I think I—"

John says, "Don't care," settling over him, turning his attention to the side of Rodney's neck he couldn't previously reach. And Rodney means to point out that he should probably fix it, if he just knocked out the power in the whole neighborhood. It's hard to care with John pressed against him, his skin soft and hot when Rodney works a hand up his sleeve to trace his shoulders and back.

Rodney moans, and decides he'll have to fix it later. Or, he considers, as John pulls at the collar of his shirt, maybe he'll just let the goddamn electric company handle it this one time.

* * *

The next time Rodney wakes up, John is still sleeping, snoring softly. Rodney sits up and stares down at the other boy for a long time, his messy hair, the mouth that Rodney has become rather familiar with. One of John's hands is on top of the blankets, and Rodney traces his fingertips across the back of John's hand, shivering just a little in sense memory.

For a moment, Rodney considers waking John up. But he still needs to shower, to wash the smell of the hospital off of his skin. And he wants to look at the wound, the ugly stitches on his chest, where John doesn't have to see them. He's not sure he wants John to ever see the wound, even though he knows logically that it'll scar up and be there forever.

Rodney carefully slides out of bed. Downstairs he can faintly hear John's parents moving around, but no one is nearby when he makes a run down to the bathroom. He leaves the door ajar just in case John wakes up, and spends a long time under the hot water.

And somewhere, between trying to wash his hair one handed, because it hurts like a son of a bitch to raise his left arm, and realizing that his lips are sore from kissing John so much, he finds himself sitting on the floor of the shower, sobbing.

Rodney feels oddly disconnected from it, the tears sliding down silently, his breath hitching, his chest burning. He fumbles for the faucet, misses, and goes sideways, curling up on the ceramic tile and pressing his hands over his face.

For a while he had, somehow, pushed the memory of the pain away. It's back now. Twisting, ripping, tearing through his chest. He can remember struggling for each breath, feeling bubbles in the back of his throat, drowning in his own blood, trying to tell John, to tell John—

John rips the shower curtain down, wild eyed, falling to his knees and babbling words that Rodney just can't make sense of. The water stops, and Rodney wishes it hadn't, because at least it was washing the stupid, useless tears away.

And then John is pulling him close, shouting over his shoulder, "I said I've got him!" and then softer, rocking Rodney back and forth, "Hey, hey, you're okay. You're okay, now. I need you to focus on me, Rodney. C'mon, I know you can."

Rodney isn't sure he can at all, but he tries, trembling and coughing on snot, his chest burning. John reaches around, threading their fingers together, squeezing, and Rodney gasps, eyes jerking open, falling back into his own head.

The world goes quiet, and it's only then that Rodney realizes how loud it was. He gasps, still trying to breathe normally, "What happened? What did I do? John, what did—"

John kisses him, deep and slow, and Rodney feels himself melt into it. It's easier to think with his heart rate slowing down, the throb of pain in his chest going dull again. He can feel what he broke, cars twisted into all kinds of wrong shapes outside, and he sucks in a deep breath, pulling away from John and pressing his hands to the cool tile, concentrating.

It's so much harder to fix them than it is to break them, but he manages.

John pulls Rodney back down against him when Rodney finishes, pressing his face up against Rodney's wet hair. They sit in the bottom of the shower for a long time, and then John murmurs, soft and gentle, "I want to see it."

Rodney winces, starting to pull away, but John catches him, "Rodney. Please. I just—I need to, okay?" For a long moment Rodney stares at him. It's not like he can actually deny John anything. Rodney sighs, twisting around, pulling at the awkward bandages that he'd been doing his best to shield from the water.

The stitches are as ugly as he'd thought they would be. His skin is red and agitated, the three inch long cut set between two of his ribs. Rodney grimaces, starting to turn. John catches him, pulling him back, cupping a hand out around the scar and ducking his head, pressing feather light kisses against Rodney's lips.

John says, "I am so sorry," his voice cracking.

Rodney shakes his head, squirming around, "No, John, no, it's not—" and it's simpler to just kiss him, straddling him on the cold tile floor, his fingers sliding up into John's hair. He whispers against John's mouth, "It wasn't your fault," kissing John until some of the tension in his body eases, until John wraps his arms around Rodney and cradles him closer. They rock together, slow, breath hitching and catching, gazes locked when they fall over the edge.

And afterwards, John wraps around him, and whispers, "Better than anything," against the side of Rodney's neck.

##### Epilogue

* * *

Carson's parents had to wait a week before he could fly, or John is sure they would have been gone already, taken Carson back to Scotland, where they could try again to keep him safe.

Carson still looks sick, his skin pale, dark circles under his eyes, moving the careful way Rodney does when he burns himself out. John carries the boy's luggage, unsure what the right words are to thank Carson for what he did. For Rodney, walking hand in hand with John through the airport.

When they get to the security check-point, they all stop, Carson's parents hurrying through and then casting nervous glances back at their son when he doesn't immediately follow. John sets down Carson's bags, smiling at the other boy, who manages a crooked, weak, grin back.

For a moment no one says a word, and then Teyla steps forward, weak and hurt herself, wrapping her arms around Carson in a careful hug. They'd both burnt themselves out, almost killed themselves bringing Rodney back, and John will never be able to thank them enough for that.

They haven't talked about it, not really, beyond whispers in the dark of the night. Rodney doesn't know what happened, only that he'd fallen into blackness, that he'd been sleeping and heard Teyla calling for him. She'd followed him down, held onto him, and dragged him back. Teyla won't talk about it at all, about what she saw, if anything, and John sees no reason to push her. She's done enough.

After a long moment, she shifts back, Carson brushing her hair away from her face. When they kiss it is slow and careful, both obviously in pain. He whispers against her mouth, so soft John barely hears it, and isn't sure he was supposed to hear it at all, "I will come back for you."

Teyla smiles, though her eyes are wet, nodding her head and not speaking. She steps back, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and Rodney reaches out to her, pulling her close. Ronon and Elizabeth are standing a few steps away, there for support, but giving the rest of them their space.

John is only a little surprised when Rodney gently pushes Teyla towards him. He wraps the girl up in a hug, letting her tuck her head in under his chin while Rodney stares at Carson for a long moment. Finally Rodney reaches out, taking Carson gently by the wrist and pushing the boy's hand over his heart.

There are stitches there, holding the soft tissue that Carson couldn't repair together. And under it, Rodney's heart, beating because Carson put it back together, his punctured left lung now whole and undamaged. Rodney stares down at the ground, his eyes shut tight, and Carson leans their foreheads together, wrapping his hand around the back of Rodney's neck.

They rock gently back and forth for a long moment, and then Rodney pulls back, smiling crookedly, whispering, "Thank you." Carson nods, dragging the heel of his hand over his own eyes, taking a series of deep, slow, breaths before looking up again.

Rodney puts a hand on Teyla's shoulder, and she shifts towards him, looping her arms around his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. John reaches for Carson's hand to shake, and then feels silly, ducking his head and making a face at himself. He doesn't know what to say. Or how to say it. Carson just grins at him though, saying, "Try not to be a daft idiot about him anymore, then?" and softer, against John's ear, "Watch after her, until I get back?" And John nods, because he can do that.

Then Carson is stepping back, waving, and heading through the checkpoint. John lifts his bags onto the conveyor for him, and they stand there, watching him walk through the terminal. Carson turns back, as his parents hustle him away, his gaze on Teyla as he's finally pulled around a corner.

Teyla stays over with them that night, curled up on the couch between John and Rodney, leaning her head on Rodney's shoulder as they feed her ice-cream and tell her stories about the last two years. She's just starting to relax, laughing a little at John's description of an exaggerated paper cut by one of their classmates earlier in the year, when the special news report comes on.

All that's left of the plane is a few pieces of wreckage, floating in the icy north Atlantic waters.

Teyla stares at screen blankly, until Rodney turns it off, touching her cheek, his voice low and urgent, "Maybe it's not his plane. Teyla, listen, it can't be—"

When she starts crying, it is with great, horrible, hitching sobs. John flashes Rodney a desperate look, and they wrap around her, rocking her gently back and forth as she shouts herself hoarse, tears streaking down her face. It goes on for a long time.

* * *


	3. DVD Commentary for Variably Vacationing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DVD Commentary. Chapter including Deleted Scenes is Chapter 2 and Standard Version is Chapter 1.

[Commentary for Variably Vacationing by author sardonic smiley](http://www.squidge.org/~em-kellesvig/sardonicsmiley/vvdirectorscut.mp3). Hosted by squidgiepdx and rescused by archive.org.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Variably Vacationing [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24537916) by [greeniron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeniron/pseuds/greeniron)


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